


Project B.A.T.

by RinkaRanka



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne-centric, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Young Bruce Wayne, plot-moving Original Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinkaRanka/pseuds/RinkaRanka
Summary: There are worlds where the boy who would be known as Bruce Wayne was born and raised as Gotham's Princeling, the only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. There's worlds where he seeks out help to become a weapon.This is not one of those worlds. Here he is already a weapon and now he needs to learn how to be a person.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Martha Wayne & Thomas Wayne, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Leslie Thompkins & Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor & Bruce Wayne, Martha Kent & Jonathan Kent & Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 66
Kudos: 134





	1. B.A.T.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by:  
> Elven Song  
> Stranger Things  
> Bioshock Infinite

It wakes up with a start, as it always does. There is no slow drifting from the depths of consciousness, no lingering sleepiness, more like it was switched on with a press of a button. Opening its eyes, 91939 looks around.

  
Nothing has changed in its environment while it was asleep. It was still surrounded by cold concrete walls, lying on its small steel bed covered by simple white blanket. A lamp overhead dimly lit the place in grey light. The tiny room was as empty and sterile as always, devoid of anything personal as it was not meant for a person.

  
It stands up and goes to tiny adjacent toilet. There’s no shower or bath, and it barely has enough space for toilet bowl and sink, but it’s as stainless as the bedroom. There is no mirror as it doesn’t have any use of it, and its toothbrush is just as impersonal as everything else in there - pure white, simple form. It brushes its teeth and washes its hands, noticing that bruises and little gashes on its right arm are almost gone. There is a tattoo with its number on the inside of its wrist; black ink has been there for as long as it remembers.

  
After it’s done, 91939 returns in its room and sits on the bed, waiting. Usually it has to wait only 5-10 minutes, but there are times when it has to spend an hour or more in complete silence waiting, with nothing there to do. At those moments it likes to imagine. It often imagines skies that it has heard so much of. 91939 hadn’t really seen skies, so it imagines them as a light blue cloth of Doctor Ford’s shirt with swatches of white cotton Doctor Bennett uses when cleaning its skin for injection. And at night it’s a dark blue of Mr. Williams’ pants with little lamps here and there, and a bigger lamp in the middle. It has asked about sky before while in Studying Room, but it’s hard to imagine something you had never seen, even if you know that the Moon is a natural satellite that just reflects light and the stars are just giant burning balls of gas.

  
It's jerked out of its daydreaming by the sound of approaching steps, and a few moments later a heavy steel door is open, flooding dimly lit room with stark white light coming from corridor. As always, a man in full soldier ammunition with a gun on the ready is standing behind the door. It obediently stands up and steps out of its room.

  
As per usual it is led through a maze of corridors to what they call the Examining Room. It’s way bigger than his room, but just as neutral. There are racks and cabinets made of stainless steel where medical supplies are stored, some apparatuses for physical examination and a shower in a corner. Doctor Bennett is waiting for it inside and once 91939 is there, it slips its loose white t-shirt and sweatpants off, left to stand naked. First Dr. Bennett looks him over from all angles, looking for any visible signs of illness. After she takes her stethoscope and listens to its lungs. She takes its blood, measures its temperature and checks its blood pressure. Sometimes she also checks his eyes or his ears or something else, but not every day. She also applies a salve to the wounds on his arm. After she is done with her medical assessment of its health, 91939 is led under the shower so a strong stream of water that nearly knocks him off his feet can wash away what little grime he accumulated the day before. When its body deemed clean it’s dried out and Doctor Bennett gently takes its right arm for its daily injection. She looks concerned when her eyes catch how bruised its veins is. She instead takes its left arm as the bruises there are fading. Dr. Bennett is relatively new there; she was only working there for 7 months or so, but 91939 likes her a lot. Her grip is gentle, unlike previous examining person Dr. Long, and she actually tries to make all procedures as painless as possible. She has warm, caring eyes and would sometimes smile at it and stroke its hair.

  
When she is done, 91939 puts a new pair of clothes on and the soldier escorts it to the Dining Room. It’s almost as small as its room, furniture only consisting of steel table and flimsy plastic stool. There is a one-way mirror on the opposite wall and a doorway to kitchen, from where another person comes in with a tray of something that looks more like a glue rather than food, but as 91939 has never seen anything else it doesn’t think much of it, and starts eating its breakfast. It knows that there are people on the other side of the glass, as there are people who were on the other side of cameras in Examining Room. Their looks have always bothered 91939, making him want to cover itself with a blanket and hide, but there is nothing it can do. There is no such thing as privacy for a tool.

  
After it is done it’s time to go to Studying Room. Much like all others it’s white and clean, with furniture all made of stainless steel and plastic. There is a table with a chair in the middle of the room, at which it sits during lessons, whiteboard right in front of it. Bookshelves line walls, stacked up with many treatises that cover all spheres of science. 91939 is yet to go through most of them, but its Professors say that it learns very quickly and it won’t be long until there will be no need for their service anymore. 91939 knows they don’t really want to teach it, it sees how uncomfortable they are around it, how their eyes would dart now and then to soldier constantly watching it. But it’s okay. 91939 isn’t really comfortable with them either.

  
Lessons weren’t always a part of his day. A year back Dr. Ford during tests noticed that 91939 is quite smart, and could easily realize how to assemble and disassemble something without ever seeing the thing before. Dr. Ford had a reasonable thought that a smarter weapon could be way more useful. Besides, through lessons it was possible to instill ideas and world views that was favorable for success of the project and were proven hard to inculcate in other ways. And that’s why it was decided that from that moment 91939 would have lessons every day, to broaden its understanding of the world. Through the year it was discovered that the specimen had a very high intellect, and it was moving through school program way faster than was expected. Right now 91939, despite it being in age of 7, was on the intellectual level of middle schooler and was studiously moving further.

  
Today was Monday, so today it would be learning Math with Dr. Williams. Williams was a strict teacher, always trying to find littlest mistakes and making a huge deal out of them, going as far as critiquing the way it writes down the exercise. 91939 doesn’t like him. There is, however, Mr. Brown, who teaches him Languages on Wednesdays. He is its favorite. He never chastises for mistakes and does a very good job at explaining the subject. He often praises 91939 when it does a good job. But he is always very unnerved by its presence and how impersonal it is despite its human appearance. The specimen heard him say something about “Uncanny Valley”, or maybe it was “Sinister”. Well, it’s not like 91939 can do something about it.

  
There is also Biology with Mrs. Smith on Tuesdays, Physics on Thursdays with Dr. Jones, Chemistry on Fridays with Mrs. Sanders and History and Physical Education with Mr. Russell on weekends. 91939 likes History very much, it’s fascinated by all the stories of generals and kings and scientist and revolutions. It would never say it out loud, of course. Weapons shouldn’t have preferences and opinions.

  
After 4 hours of solving math problems it’s finally time for dinner and some rest. Its head hurts a little from all the numbers, constants and variables, and it’s glad that the lesson has finally ended, despite knowing what lies ahead. After eating another portion of glue or whatever it is, 91939 is returned back to its bedroom as its time for an IV drip. It doesn’t know what exactly is inside the drip, but no one would tell and it wouldn't understand even if they did. So it lays patiently as Doctor Bennett lets the air out of the needle and checks that everything is alright. She considers his arms for a moment, and decides to inject it in a vein at his palm rather than elbow, and waits patiently for 91939 to say whether it hurts or not. When all is done she rubs his arm gently but stealthily, so the soldier wouldn’t notice. Things shouldn’t have any contact with real persons without necessity.

  
They go away, the door is closed, and 91939 slowly doses off, dreaming of soft cotton on a blue cloth. But slowly white cotton becomes redder and redder, and cloth above it is dampening too, and its arms are all wet, and its eyes are bleeding and it doesn’t stop, 91939 can’t stop it, it hurts, and 91939 feels like maybe its dying, like what it imagines dying feels like, like its mind is going to explode, like it falls and falls, like its throat is stuffed with something and it won't get a breath through, and…

  
It wakes up, all sweaty and gasping for air, lying stiffly like a tin soldier, unable to move, trying to calm its frightened little heart. A few minutes later, when its breathing is a little bit slower, the door opens again, and Dr. Bennett takes the drip out, frowning slightly at 91939’s obviously distressed state. She, however, doesn’t say anything, and a different soldier leads it out, leaving Doctor behind.

  
The route to the next room always goes through a branch corridor that had 5 meters high gates at one of the ends. 91939 has never been there. It did, nonetheless, hear sounds coming from behind thick metal. It doesn’t want to go there at all.

  
Finally they come to the Test Room. Its area is 280 meters with ceiling up to 6 meters and the thickest walls in the complex. There is a big reinforced one-way mirror in one of the walls, where, no doubts, gathered most of the staff. A few objects placed on the floor, different in size, weight, material and structure. When series of thick doors to the Test Room are closed behind it, Dr. Ford, unseen to the subject, pushes a few buttons on control panel.

  
A feeling of relief floods 91939’s mind, as if a steel band that squeezed painfully its skull finally fell away. Its awareness of objects became razor sharp, like it suddenly grew a new pair of hands that touched and felt everything around. However there still was a lingering sensation of a binding set deeply into its brain, not letting 91939 spread its metaphorical wings.

  
Voice boomed from above: 

  
“Pick up the crate 4 feet to the left away from you. “

  
The wooden crate weighing 10 kilograms rose up 3 meters in the air. The subject didn’t move from its position.

  
Voice ordered again:

  
“Pick up the gun 6 feet on your right, move it to the glass, disassemble and reassemble it. “

  
The gun was moved through the air toward the window and slowly, precisely, piece by piece dismantled, then the details all levitated for a few seconds in the air and were collected back into the gun again. 

  
That way 91939 spend next few hours, picking things up, moving them, dismantling them, crushing and bending, hurling through air and stopping dead in their tracks. It was routine. Once 91939 tried to use a metal pipe it was given to break the glass. The glass withstood and Dr. Ford pushed the button as soon as he realized its intentions, stripping the specimen off its powers. It has never tried something like that again, memories of the consequences still haunting it at nights.

  
The last test was to pick up a huge block of concrete that weighted 62 tons. For a few minutes it looked like nothing was happening, but then the specimen visibly tensed up, fists clenched and veins bulging. Still nothing happened, and 91939 tensed up even more and its eyes started to bleed, trails of red running down its pale cheeks. Finally the block moved a few centimeters up and then with a thundering thud fell back down. 91939 swayed and then fell on its knees altogether. Dr. Ford pushed the button and only after this let Miss Bennett go check the subject. She rushed to its side through another series of thick doors, kneeling beside the little body of a child, and started checking its pulse and breathing and pupils dilation. Ford strode leisurely to her side, watching her hasty movements.

  
“Developing attachment to a weapon, are we, Loraine? “

  
She slowed down in her ministrations; head hung low, jaw clenched.

  
“No sir.”

  
Ford hummed lowly, and asked one of other scientists, gaze still fixed on the woman:

  
“Had you recorded results?”

  
“Yes sir. His carrying capacity seem – “

  
“Its.”

  
“W-what?”

“Its carrying capacity. Not his. You’re new here, Mr. Lee, but you have to learn that it’s Not. A. Person. Am I clear?” Ford gritted through his teeth, seething.

  
“Y-yes, sir… um. So, its carrying capacity has increased by 1.7% from the last time, and the speed limit at which h- it stops projectiles increased be 4.6%. The radius –“

  
“Move the object to the chamber number 12.”

  
“But-but Mr. Ford!” Dr. Bennett exclaimed, receiving a raised brow from the head of the project at such a blatant non-observance of subordination. “The bo- I mean, the subject is unconscious! It could have a concussion or other internal damage from the strain! I, as attending physician, highly recommend you let him-“

  
“IT!”

  
Dr. Bennett flinched back from the enraged yell and clamped her mouth shut. Doctor Ford took a few calming breaths and in a firm voice that left no room for argument ordered:

  
“Move. The object. To the chamber number 12. Am I clear?"

91939 woke up in what it called the Bad Room. It was sat at a plastic stool before a table with a few different objects on it. There was a metal cuff on its right wrist with different wires going from one of the black walls attached to it. There was a single little lamp overhead that was dim and flickered every few minutes. In a corner of the table was a big rectangular something, which was covered with a blanket, though 91939 already knew what’s inside.

  
Across from it sat Dr. Ford. He was nearing his fifties, with grey almost overcoming the blonde of his hair. He had a long nose with large roundish glasses sat atop it, and his lips were pressed in a thin line. His eyes were cold and piercing, watching 91939 like a hawk watches pray. 91939 looked down, unable to withstand the icy gaze for long, feeling as if it was slit open and examinated.

  
Long minutes passed in tense silence, Dr. Ford drumming his long accurate fingers on the table, staring with obvious dissatisfaction and 91939 clutching at its thin shirt and squirming in its seat, hunching lower and lower on itself, trying to make itself as small as possible.

  
Finally, Ford spoke:

  
“Are you going to be disobedient again?”

  
91939 clutched at the shirt tighter and remained silent, lips pressed together in shame.

  
Dr. Ford sighed tiredly. Then he ordered:

  
“Take the needle. Prick your finger.”

  
It was a test for how obedient the specimen was. All the items on the table would hurt it, but not as much as an electric shock through the metal cuff would. And none of them would cause any lasting damage, of course. They needed functional weapon, after all.

  
For half an hour everything was going fine, electric shock not necessary. But then the time came for the last task. The one 91939 always failed.

  
Ford took the blanket and pulled it off a cage. A large rabbit was inside. He took the animal from the cage and set it down in front of 91939.

  
“Take the knife.”

  
It took.

  
“Kill the rabbit.”

  
It slowly extended its trembling arm to hold the rabbit down and started slowly bringing the knife closer to the animal, gaze locked on animals’ frightened eyes. The blade was a few inches away from rabbit’s neck, just one fast move and the animal would be dead. But its hands were shaking more and more, and its breath was shortening, it was panting, unable to make a move. A few moments later 91939 violently shook its head. And a scream full of pain was torn out of the little chest.

It was curled up in its bed a few hours later, tears running down its skin and soaking the bedding, sobs and whimpers shaking its whole body. Wiry arm reached at the place right below the base of its neck. There, in between shoulder blades, it traced the branded out lines:

  
**B. A. T.**  
Biological  
Advancement  
Technologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 91939 is a password Batman uses in Justice League & Justice League Unlimited cartoon. It's also the date when Batman character first appeared in comics. :)


	2. Demon

It wakes up from a dream full of blood and pain and flying bullets. It hates bullets, but its feelings don’t matter on the subject. Today it will have another one of weapon usage trainings with Master Wilson. The man also teaches it some moves from different martial arts, but 91939 has a feeling, that he just likes using it as a punching bag.

91939 does all the things it keeps doing every morning, no matter how much its body aches, movements mechanical, robotic. After, it sits on the bed, waiting patiently for the arrival of a soldier to take him out of the boring room and to the kind Dr. Bennett. It tries to imagine skies to distract itself, but today the skies are red and damp. It decides to not try imagining anything for a while, and instead recites in its head one of his previous lessons on biology, about the food chain and the loss of potential energy with every link. It likes biology, likes learning about other living creatures. It dreams that once it will see them.

An hour later it finally hears some commotion behind the door. There are unusually many people judging by the sound of rushed steps, and someone hurriedly talks, though 91939 can’t understand what is being said as the sound is muffled. Moments later the metallic door swings open and outside are all scientist including Ford and Bennett, a few people in strange black garments and a very imposing, intimidating man, looking superior to everyone else at his 6’4” and exuding confidence and power. Without prompting 91939 steps out of his room even if the bright green of man’s eyes make him feel like on a gunpoint.

Strangely enough, they don’t lead it in the direction of Examining Room and this paired up with a piercing feeling of the man’s eyes on the back of its head makes its guts tighten with unease. A few moments after they all start walking the man asks: “So, how is the project's progress?”

Dr. Ford jumps a bit at the question as the momentary silence lulled his alert, but quickly collects himself as much as he can and hurries with his answer. 91939 notices professor’s nervousness with curiosity and fear – who is he, if this man was able to render Dr. Ford frightened?

“The specimen’s powers grew almost 500 percent from the last year and continue steadily increasing every day. It studies all subjects with ease, recently it finished course of Spanish, now it learns Russian. It also shows great abilities at exact sciences, the high school course of mathematics is almost done.” 91939 frowns almost imperceptibly at this – it has been told that it was middle school level.

“However there’s not much progress in martial arts as of yet. Maybe if we change the teacher...” Ford glared sharply at Wilson. He never liked this man, too brash and confident; he was not scared of Ford’s authority. Besides, Ford had a feeling that he never even had in mind teaching the subject, which could backfire badly at Ford himself as the head of the project, if Master was unsatisfied with results.

Master, however, didn’t say anything at this and instead changed the topic to the one that Ford wished so hard to avoid. “And weapon’s behavior?”

Ford’s gulp was almost audible. He glared at the little thing walking quietly before him. “Emotional responses were almost cleaned out, sir. We’re working at fear currently, and it seems that soon it won’t have it too.”

“And the problem?”

Ford pursed his thin lips and inhaled deeply through his nose. “We… didn’t manage to work it out yet.”

The man’s face distorted in dissatisfaction, corners of his lips pulled down and baring his sharp teeth, a deep crease between his brows and a dangerous gleam to his eyes. He looked like an angered lion, or what 91939 thought angered lion looks like from the pictures in its books. “What’s the point of all my funding if you can’t make my weapon function as it should?” He growled.

All the scientist walking beside 91939 seemed to shrink in on themselves, averting their eyes in shame and fear.

“We’re working at it! This problem will be soon solved!” Ford promised with fearful eyes.

“I don’t need your assurances, I need results.” The man stopped before the door to the Test Room and glared at the head of the lab. “Show me what it can do, at least. Let’s hope it’s any good in anything.”

Dr. Bennett stood once again on the other side of the glass, watching as the boy she came to care so deeply for was once again ordered around. She wasn’t new to the sight, but each time made her heart beat faster. Before coming to work here she never knew that something like this was possible, she only thought that it was just a fantasy, something you would see in a comic book or a movie, something every teenager dreamed about and something that simply wasn’t achievable. This place proved her wrong. Before she also thought that there’s no such place as hell and there’s certainly no such creatures as demons, but standing here right now with this monsters of men at her sides proved her wrong again. Before she never thought that it was possible to hate someone so much. Ford and this strange man that was the one behind this lab, this project, showed her that she underestimated her ability to hate by a large margin. Her nails were leaving bloody dents in her palms and her teeth hurt from how strongly she was clenching them, but she never registered the pain, all her concentration on keeping herself in check, on living through another day of someone else’s torture. Before she never thought you can feel another person’s pain so acutely. Turns out she was wrong about many things.

The last order was given and once again she saw little body collapse, face in red, to the concrete floor. Buttons were pushed and the door opened. She let out a silent exhale at finally being able to help the boy, to get away from these people. On her way out she heard the strange man with even stranger green eyes tsk.

“So that’s it?” He asked with disinterested expression. Even Ford didn’t know what to say to that, as the results was quite excessive, so he just stood there looking meek in silence. The man sighed, disappointed, and after a pause said, turning away from the one-way mirror: “Now, show me the Gate Project progress.”

“Yes, sir.” Ford and all his retinue led the man out of the room, leaving Dr. Bennett behind to tend to the 91939, one soldier staying with them to make sure they don’t do anything stupid.

She flipped the boy gently on his back, his face a bloody mess and body limp. Loraine took a little flashlight from her pocket and gently opened his eye, checking pupil dilation.

“Dctor B-bent?” He slurred the words.

“Yes, it’s me.” She said lowly, putting the flashlight back and taking out of her lab coat’s big pockets a tonometer that she now always carried to all tests boy undergone. He was silent, lids sagging, while she putted the sleeve of the device on, discreetly stroking boy’s arm in comforting gesture. “Your blood pressure is too low; I will have to carry you, okay?” The boy just nodded weakly.

She put an arm under his back and another under his knee, and was ready to lift him up when the soldier came forward. He silently moved his arms under the boy and gently picked him up, adjusting his grip so the boy would be comfortable. Soldier and Dr. Bennett looked at each other, and after a moment she said “Bring him to the infirmary; I want to check him more thoroughly.” And then held her breath realizing her slip in pronounces.

The man just nodded and turned on his heels and started walking to the med bay, Doctor’s surprised look on his back.

When they finally came to the infirmary, the man lowered 91939 carefully on a gurney, and patted his head softly, before moving away to the entrance to give Doctor some space, and so she started checking the sleepy from exhaustion boy for any internal damage, giving him a pill to return his blood pressure to normal level first. She moved very delicately as to not startle the boy from his light slumber. Around 15 minutes later she huffed with relief as there was nothing to fear about. She removed her stethoscope and put down all the things she used, before turning back to the child to pick him up, but the guard beat her to it, gently picking the boy back up, trying his best not to wake him. Loraine gave the man a small smile and whispered “Thanks” at him, and the man nodded in return, adjusting his grip on the boy.

Together, they exited the infirmary and started walking to the containment room. The way was unreasonably long in Doctor Bennett’s opinion; surely they could have placed boy’s room closer to the med bay, especially since he must visit it so often. No one was on their way and she couldn’t help but glance at the man beside her once in a while.

All staff working in the facility was strictly forbidden to communicate with 91939 in any way unless necessary. The only ones talking to him were the teachers and Ford, and every time it was nothing personal, only lessons and orders. She was here for 7 months now, and while she thought that she could do this when signing a very heavy stack of documents, she realized by now that no, she was absolutely not prepared for this work. She thought that after seeing so much terrible things happening all around her while working in medical field service she would be prepared for anything they would throw at her, that she would be able to not get attached to just another one patient. But no, she was not. She wasn’t ready to see such blatant objectification of another human being, to see the isolation and torture, to be part of it. This work was making her sick, sick with all these people, with herself. And now was the first time when she wondered – maybe she wasn’t the only one who was revolted.

They took another turn, and there was a metallic clang echoing from behind them. “They started showing the project now” Loraine thought distractedly. She stole another glance at the bullet proof clad back. She never thought herself to be fond of children. She certainly never wanted to give birth to one. And she never felt any motherly instinct, nor she was a nurturing type, her dead plants she once tried growing is proof enough of that. It was one of the reasons she thought the job won’t be hard for her. She never imagined how easily she would be swept off her feet by these large blue eyes. The boy managed to take a place in her heart in a matter of weeks, and he didn’t even speak to her. Though there was no need to. She could see everything by the trust in his eyes that was just for her. And she just couldn’t help herself. Can you blame her?

Again some more noise from the corridors they left was heard, but it was a very often occurrence when scientists were working on the Gate. At first she tended to be scared by it, but now she was used enough to not even notice. Besides, she now was too deep in her thoughts to pay attention to her surroundings.

She always tried to make 91939 feel at least a little bit better, even if it was forbidden. She would gently stroke his hair or squeeze his hand reassuringly, but she always did it discreetly, fearing the consequences of her actions for both herself and the child. But now she thought that maybe she didn’t have to be this discreet. Maybe she wasn’t the only one disgusted by what was happening in this god forgotten place. Maybe the soldiers and the scientists and the janitors were just as scared as her. Maybe not everyone here are monsters that she thought them to be.

Suddenly all the lights started flickering and then just died out, dim red emergency lights washing the walls with red. It wasn’t the first time it happened, the workings on the Gate project often ended with facilities' generators burnt. She never was let in on what exactly this project was as there was no need for a medic, but it surely was something big if it strained their electric grid so much.

Two adults exchanged glances, but continued on their way. Even though it wasn’t the first time it occurred, red light still made her gut churn with nerves. She was used that things that had “emergency” in their name are not something to ignore. But this place often disregarded what she was or wasn’t used to.

Her attention was back on the soldier soon enough. She didn’t know his name, or names of any other guard that worked here, she never talked with any of them. To be honest she was always afraid of them, they were nothing like the soldiers she knew from her previous work. They were silent and efficient, always in balaclavas, no emotions in their eyes. Sometimes she thought they were brainwashed just like what Ford tried to achieve with 91939. Other times she wondered if they were robots. Now she was starting to doubt herself. Maybe they always wore these mask to hide their feelings better? Or maybe they had seen something even worse and all this hell was like a vacation for them? Maybe their souls were so scarred by what they lived through that they became insensitive to other’s pain? She can only guess. Maybe she should have talked with them. Maybe then she wouldn’t be as surprised as she is right now at discovering that one of them is not in fact a demon.

_Was it shooting?_

They both stopped dead in their tracks. Again they looked at each other, but now their eyes were full of worry. Of course it could be nothing. Maybe Ford was showing some new weaponry. Bur Loraine would be lying if she said that it was a normal occurrence. Besides, she never heard of any armory development going on in the facility.

The soldier stepped to her and made a gesture with his head at the sleeping boy. She didn’t have to be told twice and quickly took him from man’s arms, the movement waking up the boy. When his arms were free the man took his gun and pointed it at the end of the corridor they came from.

The firing was more and more distinct with a second, and soon they also could distinguish screaming and strange gurgling and growling sounds as well. The gunfire was a few corridors away now, the sound frantic, scrambling, terrified. And then it stopped.

“Doc, we need to get out of here, _now_.”

Without any other prompting, Loraine turned on her heels and started running to the junction of corridors where she knew one of the emergency exits was, the barely awake kid fisted her shirt tightly, frightened. The man wasn’t far behind, constantly taking a look behind them to ensure there was no one, finger trembling on the trigger.

Soon they stopped before a sealed steel door with a valve in the middle of a t-shaped intersection. She hastily put 91939 down and took the handle. It was almost never used before and it took all her strength to turn, slowly as she could, and the boy took the handle too to help her a bit. Soldier stood near, pointing his gun down all three passages consequently, but nothing was coming from there and no sound was heard.

Finally with relived exhale Loraine opened the heavy door.

Something dripped down on soldier's shoulder.

They looked up and saw it.

The big black twisted body. The multitude of sharp claws.

Protruding horns.

Leathery wings.

Glowing eyes.

_Jagged fangs_.

In a swift motion it dropped down on the guard and the dark red of his blood spilled from the place where a second ago was his head.

Loraine grabbed boy’s hand and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more than one Demon in this chapter


	3. Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some wild parkour from one point of view to another

They ran and ran and ran, and their feet were aching and their lungs were burning, and their throats were dry as sand, their sides were prickling with pain, but they still ran through seemingly endless maze of passageways and turns and stairs, all while gurgling, nauseating sounds of flesh torn open resonated down their way, the metal of pipelines carrying sounds through the facility. It felt endless, like the Minotaur’s labyrinth, the corridors entangled in each other like a nest of snakes, misleading them from the hoped-for freedom.

The air here was damp and stale; no living soul disturbed it from the moment of these walls’ creation. The humidity made it harder to breathe, each lungful, however big, not enough, leaving them feeling suffocating.

The concrete of walls was cold and wet, here and there covered in mold and moss, making them slip once in a while. On one of these slips Loraine couldn’t hold her balance and fell hard on the floor, barely catching herself before hitting the ground and scraping her hands bloody on rough concrete. She tried to stand back up but found that all the running had left her exhausted, the lack of oxygen making her head spin, and her limbs trembling from all the adrenaline pumped in her bloodstream. She barely had enough strength left to sit up and lean on the nearest wall.

91939 came closer and sat next to her, his little chest heaving on each breath, and his grey pants were muddied and torn at the knees, which were scraped and bruised from one of his own falls. They sat there in silence, catching their breaths, and straining their hearing to try and pick up any sound that might mean danger for them. A few minutes of troubled resting, and Loraine couldn’t take it anymore, waiting for danger while staying still was getting on her already damaged nerves, each little sound making her skin crawl, each flicker of light leaving her glancing fearfully around.

She slowly stood up, and though her body still was hurting and exhausted from too brief rest, at least she could breathe more easily now. The boy nearby slightly frowned at her, but didn’t say anything, just slowly got up too on a bit wobbly legs. They started on their way again but this time Loraine decided that they were far enough to set a bit slower pace, as to save energy.

A few corners after the floor started to have a slight angle to it so they knew immediately that they were nearing an exit. With each meter the air was becoming less humid, and soon enough they came to a crossroad, a light breeze coming from one of the passages. They entered this corridor and right after the next corner they saw a staircase going up. Loraine picked up the pace and soon was running toward the stairs, missing some of the steps in a hurry. There were five flights of stairs, but she hardly registered any of them.

On top of the stairs was a large steel door, looking a lot like the one they had to open to get to this emergency exit in the first place, but this one rustier and even heavier, the dark red paint on the handle flaky and covered in dust.

She took the valve handle eagerly.

And at the same moment a horrible howl resonated through the walls, the echoing metal of pipelines making it hard to understand how close it really was.

Panicking she started tugging at the valve, but it didn’t give, the rust shackling the mechanisms inside of the lock. 91939 too was trying to turn it, but his small hands hardly made any difference. She was sweating from the fear and the effort, making her palms slippery and making the task even harder. Another growling sound made it up the stairs, and this one was definitely closer than the last one. Woman’s breathing picked up, she was hyperventilating, her knees were shacking and arms feeling like wool, and the damn wheel barely moved at all! She was going to be eaten by whatever this strange bloodcurdling thing was, she was going to be eaten alive and no one would ever know what had happened to her, that’s it, that’s the end…

The loud roar came from the bottom of the stairway and in the desperate wish to live Loraine put the strength she didn’t know she had and the metal groaned, giving up and finally turning easily. In a moment she threw open the door and run out with the boy, instantly swinging it back closed, the automatic security mechanisms locking it up again. Right after it was sealed back there was a loud hitting sound from behind it, as if something really large just crashed into it from the other side, making both humans take a few cautious steps back.

Loraine stood still like a deer caught in headlights, staring intently at the door.

A few more hits at the metal, and something sounding a bit like a grumble, and everything went quiet once again.

Loraine let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and finally her shaking legs gave out on her. She fell on a soft ground, looking around not quite processing what she was seeing.

From outside the exit they just came from looked like an old wooden door to a small rickety barn or maybe granary, a few vine branches going up the gnarly boards that hide sturdy cement. No one would look twice at this little building, and that’s exactly the point.

They were in the middle of golden sea of almost ripe wheat, the soft breeze swaying the thin stems, making them look like rippling waves. The bottomless blue of the sky held no clouds at all, only the shining disk of the sun, basking them in its warmth.

“It’s so bright.” Said the boy in quiet awed voice, looking up at the limitless celestial sphere, and wasn’t he right. The Sun indeed was as bright and shining as always, as it was the day she was born and as it will be the day she will cease to exist, not caring about her at all. Just a few moments ago they were in the pit of Hell, dark, gloomy, cold and confined space, with monsters right on their heels, and now here they were, in the light and warm and open place, separated from a living nightmare by a chunk of metal and concrete. They could have died there, and no one would know. No one would care, and this happy world would continue on being happy, never giving any thought of what terrors may be happening behind closed doors. They could have died and the world wouldn’t notice, because they weren’t _needed_ for it to go on, they were just another few people that come and go like most others, not making any impact and not leaving any trails of their existence besides their corpses that would be eaten away soon enough.

A wave of nausea hit her and right after came the laughter. She was crying and laughing, the tears wetting her cheeks and dripping on her blouse but she didn’t notice them, just kept on laughing in hysterics, not really understanding what was she finding all that funny but not able to stop herself. She was shaking from the strength of her amusement, or maybe it was all the adrenaline in her bloodstream, or maybe it was the exhaustion in her muscles, but she was shaking uncontrollably and soon she was doubling over with it, her face wet and at some point her laugh turned into wailing, but she didn’t notice it, not until a small hand touched her fragile shoulder and she looked at the boy near her and realized that she couldn’t see his face, her vision too blurry with tears. Without saying anything she just blindly reached out with her trembling hands and hugged him closely to her chest, clutching tightly the thin cloth of his shirt. And maybe there was a growing wet stain where his face was tucked in her shoulder, but she didn’t notice it either.

Jonathan sat contentedly on the old coach, the springs groaning slightly at the weight. His limbs were slightly aching from the days’ work, but he was used to it. Today, as always, he woke up on the sunrise, and spent his day tending to his fields and caring about his cattle. The day was nice, the Sun’s heat soft, and the sky clear of any clouds at all, letting him easily do his honest job without caring about bad weather. It was nearing the end of the summer and soon enough all his efforts will be rewarded with rich harvest which this time looks quite promising. But for now he is content to wait for it, as he does every year.

He heard the creaking sound of old door opening and his son walked quickly to the stairs, just returning from town even though it’s almost seven p.m.

“Hi chum.”

“Hi.” The kid huffed, not sparing even a glance at him.

“How was the day at school?”

“Fine.” Teen said slightly annoyed from the top of the stairs.

Mister Kent sighed. Not so long ago his boy was the most ideal child in the world, sweet, polite and respecting. They would share every secret and spend a lot of time together, working at the farm, tinkering with old Betty, camping in the wild or fishing at the river. They were so close. But now his kid has grown up from chubby faced boy to a scrawny and a bit awkward teen and now he doesn’t trail after him all the time anymore. He more and more often returns home late and rarely seeks him out to share a secret or just spend time together. He does farm work with less eagerness and scowls any time Jonathan vaguely remarks on his future here. He spends less time at the farm, and when he stays it’s more often being closed off in his room. Martha, his dear wife, noticed a few days back that he was sighing a lot and took a habit of daydreaming, and asked him teasingly about it while suggesting that maybe there was someone he would like to tell them about. But instead of an honest confession that he used to do his son just sputtered angrily and stormed away, his red ears betraying the answer to Missis Kent's query completely.

His son has grown up and he didn’t even notice how it happened until he was almost as tall as him and wouldn’t hug him goodbye when going to school in the morning.

Well. It was bound to happen one day or another, wasn’t it? Guess that’s what being a parent is like. You have to let your child out from under your wings so they can spread their own. But he couldn’t help a little sting of sadness at the thought of his little son leaving them to live on his own.

His wife called out: “Boys! The dinner is ready!”

He got up slowly, his knees popping at the action, and walked into the kitchen where the food was already served, hot and steaming, making his stomach gurgle with hunger. He sat down at their old but sturdy round table covered in white and red checkered tablecloth, Martha already sitting at his left hand, and a few moments later their son joined them too. They took each other’s hands in a circle and read prayer, as they do before every meal, and then started digging in their steaks and mashed potato.

“Clark, darling, stop hurrying, you will choke.” Martha gently chided, but the teen just ignored what she said and continued wolfing down his food.

“The old Bet is acting up again, want to help me out with her?” Jonathan asked their boy.

“Dad, this tractor was already old when I was a baby, maybe it’s time to just buy a new one?”

Mister Kent was about to reply when he heard a knock on their front door. Clark made a move to stand up, but he stopped him, saying: “Don’t get up, it’s probably Jenkins, he borrowed my tools the other day.”

He got up and walked to the door.

“Hey Dave, you- oh my Go-“

“I’m sorry sir, can we make a call?”

Clark sat there at the table with his dad, frowning in concern at the much younger boy sitting next to him while the woman in not-so-white lab coat made the phone call in the living room. The kid was skinny and pale, almost unnaturally so, his thin clothes dirty, and his pants were torn at the knees which were bruised and scratched. The short sleeves of his grey shirt revealed wiry arms with vivid purple bruising at the elbows and a small tattooed numbers at the inside of his wrist. There were specks of something that looked suspiciously like blood here and there. All in all he was making a very disturbing image.

From the moment he entered the house the boy didn’t make a sound and kept his face stoically blank, although his eyes were darting around to greedily take everything in with undeniable spark of curiosity, as if seeing the most mundane things for the first time. Even though he recently started hearing things at a _very_ big distances, Clark couldn’t take the awkward silence in the room anymore, besides he really, _really_ wanted some answers. He spoke up, startling the kid from a diligent study of their stove: “What’s your name?”

The boy frowned slightly and glanced in the living room direction, looking very uncertain for some reason, pursing his lips in a thin line. Clark tilts his head a bit to the side to see kids face better, but he wouldn’t look at him and just keeps his eyes locked on the hem of his shirt. “My name is Clark, and yours?” He tries again, but again receives no answer from the boy who just bites his lip a bit and worries the cloth.

Jonathan, who was watching the exchange carefully, also being very interested in some explanations, but also seeing that the child was uncomfortable with the topic tried to ask another question and stop his son from further pushing.

“How old are you?” He asked in a friendly light voice.

There was a long silence and when he almost lost hope to hear an answer the kid spole up.

“Seven.” He said quetly, almost too low to hear.

“Huh, seven, that’s great, you sure are a big boy, aren’t you?” No, no he wasn’t a big boy. In fact he was too small for a seven year old. Mister Kent actually thought the kid couldn't be older than five. “You’re going to second grade soon, yeah?”

“I’m at a middle school level.” The kid said a bit defensively and maybe with just a tiny note of pride.

“Oh, really?” The man smirked good-naturedly at the boy who nodded with confidence. “So, if you’re a middle-schooler, it must be a piece of cake for you to count 150+150, right?” He asked teasingly.

The boy narrowed his eyes at the way too easy question and held his head a bit higher when replying: “300.”

“And you also must know the capital of France?” The man kept up in the same light joking tone.

“Paris.” The kid straightened a little bit more and wait did the corners of his mouth just lift a little?

“And can you count all the planets in the Solar System?” He asked again, leaning a bit on the table to level a teasing challenging look at his little guest, who started recounting with a knowing confidence: “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars…” when suddenly he was interrupted by a rather loud growling coming from his stomach. The boy instantly shut his mouth with a clicking sound and shrinked in on himself, looking very embarrassed and even a little bit afraid, and Clark could hear his heart rate skyrocketing, but before he could react in any way, there was a full plate being placed in front of the boy, Martha cooing tenderly: “Here, darling, take a bite, you sure seem to be hungry.”

Kid didn’t move and held his head bowed while eyeing all three of them with wariness, as if waiting for something.

“Yeah, lad, come on, don’t be shy, dig in.” Jonathan encouraged him after a few moments of stillness, smiling reassuringly at the boy, and only then kid slowly took his utensils while keeping his cautious eyes on the farmer, and when the man didn’t do anything and stayed calm started to cut his steak. It was obvious that the kid tried to keep an unhurried pace, but as soon as he took the first bite he started wolfing it down like he didn’t need to breathe at all. Mister Kent couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle.

The woman – “Loraine”, she introduced herself earlier this evening – came in from the living room and sat quietly near the boy, Martha promptly serving tea to everyone at the table.

“Thank you for letting us in, we are very grateful for your help.” She said to Jonathan, trying to channel all her gratefulness in her expression.

“No need for that, we just glad we could help you. Though, I think you understand that we have some questions.” He answered with a serious expression, at what she nodded curtly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?”

“I can’t exactly answer that, but what I can say is that we have been held hostage.” She said without a shadow of hesitation even though Mister Kent could feel that it wasn’t all that truthful, but he wasn’t able to question it as Loraine suddenly had a very determined look on her face.

“I’m very sorry for the troubles we are causing you, but can I ask you for a favor? Our relative, the one I just called, said that he will be able to pick us up in the town tomorrow at around 5 p.m. Can we stay here for the night? We don’t have money at the moment but we will pay you as soon as we meet with him, as much as you want!” She pleaded fervently.

“What a nonsense, dear! Of course you both can stay the night, and there’s absolutely no need to pay us!” Martha chided gently the other woman, while taking her husband’s hand and shooting him a look that said that he better not argue with her decision. Jonathan felt affronted: it wasn’t like he was going to.

At that Loraine smiled gratefully and thanked them, pouring all her heart in the gratitude.

Loraine settled on the creaky double bed in the small room, 91939 lying on the other half. She took a shower earlier and now was in Martha’s spare pajama suit that she generously offered to her, while giving 91939 old clothes of her son – Karl? Collin? Bennett didn’t really catch his name. It felt nice to finally lie down after everything that has happened today. Oh, it’s really felt like an eternity has passed since they left the facility, all these terrors so far away yet so close. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

She forcefully stopped her mind from going over her most recent memories to try and have at least a little bit of sleep, and was already drifting away when suddenly the boy at her side spoke up quietly.

“He asked me for my name.”

It took her a few moments to understand what he said.

“Who?”

“Clark.”

She hummed thoughtfully.

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have a name.”

“But you can choose one.”

“Things don’t have names.” The boy frowned at the suggestion.

“But you are not a thing.” She turned to her side to face the child fully and gently stroked his cheek. “You are a person. You deserve a name and you can pick one. Think about it, alright? And if you want, I will help you choose.” She said at him soothingly and placed a soft kiss at his still frowning forehead. “Now, sleep.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but then decided not to, and soon they were both asleep, the woman hugging him protectively to her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each and every comment, whether it's just one word or a critique or even one letter is very welcome and helps me keep going!
> 
> Also I'm going to be out of town so it might take a while for the next update.
> 
> Здесь могла быть ваша шутка про тракториста


	4. Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pronounces used show the presons point of view
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this chapter!

It wakes up with a start, as it always does, at the same time it always does. But this time, it’s not a grey concrete ceiling that greets him, but a wooden one, and 91939 not alone on its small cot under thin sheets, there’s someone else’s arm around its body and the pillow is big and soft as is blanket, and the air is not stale damp and chilly but warm and fresh.

91939 takes a look at the person near him. Dr Bennett’s snoring almost inaudibly in her sleep, drool escaping from a corner of her mouth and making a wet stain on light blue linen. Her hair was undone and her glasses were on the bed table, the lab coat she always wears on the back of a couch. Her face was the calmest 91939 had ever seen. It was a very unusual look on her. It was a nice look. She seemed so much softer in the yellow glow of the room than how it always saw her in the harsh white light of lab’s lamps.

Slowly, it crawled out from under the arm of the woman and looked around; taking in details it didn’t notice yesterday. This room was so different from what it was used to. It’s bigger, lighter, and warmer and has so much unnecessary, personal things. Near the bed sat a little nightstand, an alarm clock, a lamp and a slim looking book under the title of “Captain America” with a very colourful cover on it. In a corner, it saw a sturdy wooden table piled with books binders. The chair near was draped with a few shirts and jeans, a cloth-made item lying nearby, a few more notebooks peeking out of it. On the wall above the desk were a few big pictures with people on them, one had “The Beatles” written in the top. It was pretty sure there was a typo. On the other wall near the pictures, it saw an object that 91939 hadn’t seen before. It seemed to be made of wood, the main part was wavy and had an opening, and the long handle was attached to the top part, six wire-like cords stretched down the middle.

Trying to be as quiet as possible 91939 stood up from the bed and sneaked silently to the object. It was a bit too high for it to take from hanger properly, but 91939 still could reach the bottom of the cords, and so it did. Gently, the tips of its fingers grazed the metal of one cord, taking in the ribbed texture, and then hooked it and pulled lightly, and then let go. A low sonorous sound emerged from it, and 91939 flinched, shocked. It looked back at Loraine with bated breath, but she only grumbled at the noise and burrowed deeper in the pillow.

91939 sighed in relief. It decided to not touch this object anymore. Instead, it came closer to the window. The sun was barely above the horizon, giving the golden field an ethereal glow. Skies were a mixture of pink and light blue, a few feathery clouds here and there. Some birds were chirping in their nest under the roof. Mr Kent was strolling from one of a few wooden buildings toward the house, whistling a cheery tune. He caught sight of 91939 in the window and smiled, raising his hand and waving. 91939 didn’t what this gesture meant but did the same. Then the man returned to his morning routine, and it perched upon the windowsill, looking out on the endless blue.

Slowly, leisurely, Loraine drifted up from the depths of her dreams and reluctantly opened her eyes. She sat up on the bed, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She then took her glasses and perched them atop her nose, frowning slightly in confusion when she realized that it wasn’t her room at all. It took her a few seconds to recollect the events of the previous day, and in that instant, she realized that there was no one on the bed with her. Panic hit her in the chest and she jumped off the bed, looking around, but then caught the sight of the boy on a windowsill, and her shoulders sagged in relief. Taking a deep breath she came closer to him and reached out a hand to comb through his short hair. He jumped a little at the sudden touch and turned around, relaxing at her sight. Loraine smiled at him softly.

“Had you been up for long?”

The boy pondered at her question, but then just shrugged. He wasn’t exactly keeping the track of time.

“Alright, let’s dress up and go wash.” She said, motioning with her head at the corridor and the boy nodded. She put on a blouse Martha gave to her yesterday, finding it just a little bit short for her, and a pair of jeans, which were a tad loose in the waist. 91939 himself seemed to be drowning in the sea of red cloth, as the smallest of t-shirts Mrs Kent was able to find could contain him twice and still had some room, so now the hem of it was reaching to his knees. Thankfully the shorts she gave him were not that big, just a bit too wide, but the problem was easily solved by a thin belt.

Bathroom was just next to their room. It was not big, but the clean, light tile was making it look spacy. After washing herself, Loraine didn’t go down to greet the family but stayed in the hallway to wait for 91939. The boy was used to being led to each room, so she wouldn’t bet that he would think of coming to the first floor himself if she wasn’t there to lead him. He would probably just return to the room and wait. And that’s why she just stood there on the other side of the door and listened to the sound of faucet running.

The steady noise was lulling her deeper and deeper in thoughts and things she didn’t want to think about sneaking to the forefront of her mind. A red-lit memory flashed before her eyes and she couldn’t stop a full-body shudder. Loraine took a few steadying breaths and clenched her shaking fists. It hardly helped when the sound of ripping flesh was still echoing in her ears. Her knees felt wobbly, and she leaned on the door to not topple over. The images of the soldier’s head being torn off from his neck were cycling over and over again in her head, the strange, twisted body of whatever it was moving like a lightning from above. She was sliding down and didn’t even realize it, mind drowning in the mess of red and black, of screams and shooting.

There was a sound of something breaking downstairs, and subsequent berating “Clark!” that snapped her out from the daze and she found herself sitting on the floor with her eyes wet and breath heaving. Slowly she calmed her rapidly beating heart, exhaling and inhaling deeply. When blood ceased loudly rushing in her ears she realized that the sound of running water stopped. Loraine sat there for some time, but nothing else was heard. Horror still fresh in her system, her mind immediately supplied scenarios of what could go wrong, and so she sprang up and opened the door.

91939 just stood there, staring intently at his reflection in the mirror, not paying her any mind. Loraine frowned slightly in confusion, but then the boy brought his hand up and tugged at a strand of his black hair and it clicked. Of course. There were no mirrors at the facility. It was the first time he saw himself. She watched a bit more how the kid touched his face in wonder.

“Hey.” She called softly.

He looked up at her.

“Let’s go.” Loraine motioned with her head at the stairs.

91939 took another look at himself and then came with her to the kitchen, where Kents were already waiting for them.

  
  
  


“Good morning.” Loraine said, sitting at the dinner table.

“Good morning!” Martha exclaimed cheerfully. She looked her up and down. “Oh, I’m so glad that this blouse isn’t too short for you. I don’t think I have anything that would fit you better.” She then looked at the boy who looked like he would trip over his t-shirt any moment and could help a small chuckle. “Sorry dear, but that’s the smallest I could find for you.”

91939 didn’t know what to answer to that so he just nodded.

Jonathan lowered his newspaper and greeted them too. 91939 looked around and opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider and closed it. Then opened and closed it again. And again. Mr Kent took pity on him.

“You want to say somethin’?” He prompted.

“Where’s Clark?”

“Oh, he just left for school.”

“Speaking of leaving. Would you please drive us to the city by five? I’m sorry for all the inconvenience we’re causing you.” Loraine asked him.

“Darlin’, what are you even talking about? We’re glad to help!” Martha exclaimed immediately.

“Yes, there’s no trouble at all. Of course, I will drive you, don’t worry about.” Jonathan said. He then turned to the boy. “But five o’clock is still a long time away, so I was wondering if maybe you would like to help me? Our old tractor needs a little fixin’, and I wouldn’t mind a spare pair of hands.” He asked, smiling.

91939 nodded.

  
  
  


After eating breakfast 91939 followed Jonathan to the barn where the tractor was. The man promptly burrowed deep in the machinery, and the boy just stood nearby, giving him a thing or another once in a while, watching closely what Mr Kent was doing. The sun was moving lazily up, and soon it was time for dinner. Jonathan closed the hood of the tractor and patted it affectionately.

“We will get you back at your feet soon, ol’ Bet, don’t you worry.”

“Bet? You gave a name to your tractor?” The boy standing near him suddenly spoke up.

“Yep.”

“Why?” He frowned in confusion. “It’s just a thing.”

Jonathan chuckled lightly and patted the boys head. “It’s not _just_ a thing. This tractor feeds us every year. Betty helps us grow our harvest, we wouldn’t have anything to eat without her. Besides, I like this tractor. So, why not?”

The kid looked between him and the tractor uncertainty. “But…”

“But what?”

“...aren’t names just for persons?”

This question was a bit strange, but, well, children often said strange things. Jon struggled with the answer for a moment, trying to find a way to express his thoughts.

“Most of the words are names.” At the questioning look, he tried to explain. “I mean, why are tractors called tractors? Because someone somewhen gave them this name, right?” He hoped his answer was making at least some sense.

“...right.” The boy said wistfully.

“C’mon, let’s take a bite.” Mr Kent lamely tried to change the subject. Surprisingly, it worked.

  
  
  


After finishing dinner 91939 and Loraine were sitting idly at the front porch bench swing, comfortable silence between them. The Sun was high and gentle breeze was caressing fields softly. Suddenly, the boy broke the quiet.

“What names do you know?”

Loraine smiled at the question.

“I know a lot of them. Would you like me to list them?” At his nod, she started. “Arthur, David, Ethan, John…” The next few minutes she was recounting all the names that would spring to mind, though soon she started struggling with coming up with another one. “...Kevin, umm… Matthew… eh, let’s see... Peter. No, wait, I already said that… Michael, Bruce, James… Jose-”

“Bruce.” Boy stopped her suddenly.

“Bruce?”

“Bruce.”

“You like that one?”

The boy nodded. “It feels like…”

“Like it belongs?”

“Yes.”

She smiled widely, warm filling her chest, and reached out her hand to hug the boy to her side. “Nice to meet you, Bruce.”

  
  
  


Clark returned in a bad mood again. He got “D+” on his test and Pa still wouldn’t let him join the football team AND it turns out that Lana started dating this jerk, Jesse. Besides, his hearing was fluctuating again, leaving him somewhat overwhelmed with all the sounds surrounding him. He stormed up in his room, not in any mood to talk with anyone right now. There, he fell on his bed, powerless anger boiling inside him.

His gaze fell on his guitar. After a moment of considering it, he stood up and took it from the hook, sitting back on his bed, and started playing. It always helped him calm down, the melodic sounds helping him close off his hearing, the movements of his fingers dissipating his stormy emotions in the methodical and harmonic act. He soon lost himself in the melody, his desire to put his fist through a wall leaving. For now.

His music session stopped a knock on his door. He frowned and asked “What?”

The door opened, and the boy he didn’t know the name of stood there in what seemed to be teen’s old clothes. “Clark?”

Clark sighed wearily. “What is it?”

The kid came closer to him, and after a moment of hesitation said: “My name is Bruce.”

Clark looked at him in surprise. The boy seemed so reluctant to tell him his name yesterday, it was a bit startling that he would come here and tell him that just like this. After a small pause, he remembered his manners and held out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Bruce.”

Bruce, however, just looked at his hand, not understanding what to do with it. Instead of taking it, he asked, gesturing at his guitar. “What is it?”

Huh, that’s a weird question.

“That’s my guitar. It’s a musical instrument.” He said in a voice like it was obvious and played a little tune for a demonstration.

Kid’s eyes widened in wonder, and so he kept playing. He played one song after another, and Bruce just stood there and listened, watching his fingers pinch and pull strings, making sounds flow. Soon he forgot whatever troubles had been on his mind and just kept entertaining his small audience.

“Bruce?” Loraine called from the doorway. Clark stopped playing and both boys turned to her. “Sorry for interrupting, but it’s time to go.”

“Oh.” Clark felt a little disappointed. He just started to like this kid. “Goodbye then.”

“Goodbye.” Bruce answered, and came after Loraine.

“Goodbye, Clark.” The woman bid her farewell to the teen and she and Bruce walked away. She glanced at Bruce - it was nice to finally be able to call him by a name instead of a number - and asked: “You did what you wanted?”

“Yes.” The boy said, a small smile on his face.

They got in the truck, and Mr Kent started the engine, driving them away from Kents’ household.

  
  
  


Once they stepped out of the car on the sidewalk of Smallville's main street they immediately heard a loud “Loraine!” and when all three, including Jonathan, turned to see who was calling they saw a tall, dark-haired male in very nice looking suit walking in their direction.

“Thomas!” Bennett called back and made to move to meet him with open arms. A few moments later they were hugging tightly, Jonathan and Bruce standing nearby. When they finally broke the embrace the man Loraine called Thomas held her at arm’s length, examining her acutely.

“Oh, Benny, dear, it’s been so long. How have you been? I have so much to te-”

Loraine put a hand up to stop her excited friend mid-rant. “We will have all the time to talk later, Tom, but first we need to focus on more important things.”

“Oh, right, sorry. It’s just been a while. I missed you.” The man smiled at her.

“I suppose this man is the relative you told us about?” Jonathan decided to make sure and asked the woman.

“Wha-” Thomas started but got interrupted by Loraine.

“Yes, it’s my cousin.”

“Oh, alright then.” Jonathan looked at the other man. “I hand them over in your care then. Keep ‘em safe. And you” Jonathan looked at Loraine and Bruce “are always welcome at our home. It was a real pleasure meeting you both.”

Loraine smiled at the man. “We are very grateful for all your family has done for us. If you want anything, anything at all-”

Jonathan held up his hands, frowning disapprovingly. “Stop, you are just embarrassing me with your offer now.”

The woman sighed heavily, but accepted the man’s refusal, no matter how badly she wanted to give him something back for all the help.

“Well, then I will go. Good luck to you all, stay safe.” He briefly patted the boy’s head and turned back to his trunk. Once he was inside the car and driving out of the parking lot, Thomas quirked his brow at Dr Bennett.

“Relative?”

“People easier entrust victims to their relatives.” She said like it explained everything.

“Wh-what? Victims? What are you talking about? And who is this young man?” Thomas gestured to Bruce who promptly stepped behind Loraine. “You call me all of a sudden years after our last talk, don’t say anything and just ask to come the next day to a town in the middle of nowhere to pick you up, and now you are lying about me and I still don’t know anything! Benny, you’re one of my dearest friends, you know I appreciate your friendship, but I really, and I mean _really_ , want some answers.”

Loraine’s hand came up to boy’s shoulder to squeeze it protectively. “I will tell you everything, I promise. But only after we’re sitting in your car.”

  
  
  


Once they were in the car - an elegant black Aston Martin - and driving to the airfield where Thomas’ private jet was waiting, Loraine started telling the whole story, from her getting the job at some lab and to both of them escaping and asking for help random people.

“Jesus Christ.” Thomas let out the breath he wasn’t realizing he was holding.

“Yeah.” Bennett agreed. “And I’m afraid that these people will be searching for us.”

“Wait. Hadn’t this thing eaten them or something?”

“I don’t know, Ford and this other man could have escaped. And anyway I’m pretty sure there are other people behind this organization too.”

“So you think whoever these people are, they going to be looking for you.”

“I’m sure of it. I don't know exact numbers, but I’m pretty confident that this project was _very_ expensive. And when there are big amounts of money involved… Well, I’m sure you know this yourself.”

“I do.” He sighed wearily. “So you want to lay low.” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes.”

“And you need my help.” At her nod, he said. “I will do what I can. I have someone who most likely will be able to help with all this. First of all, we need to make you a new identity.”

She nodded.

“You realize what it means, right? New name, new past, new job, new appearance. Not to mention that you will have to be very careful with what you are saying, what you are doing. It’s going to be hard.”

“I’m not stupid, Tommy. I know that. But you know, I would rather be careful than dead.”

“You have a point.” He chuckled. “I was just making sure that you are ready. Don’t worry. We will think of something.”

[ ](https://66.media.tumblr.com/849fcd81dd61a3d20cacd90a9cdbe690/92d1ff27de3c697d-b3/s1280x1920/cffc24beebcbf206dd17ece0b7dcbdad51b31c1b.png)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each comment is highly appreciated!
> 
> Tumblr link for the sketch: https://rinkaranka.tumblr.com/post/617747777929281536/a-sketch-of-baby-bruce-from-the-chapter-4-of-my


	5. Martha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the biggest chapter I ever did yet, yay!

Soon our little group got aboard Thomas’ personal jet. It was a small craft, clearly not made for more than 5 passengers, excluding the crew these time consisting only of two pilots, but however small it was it still was very luxurious. Plush armchairs and sofa were upholstered in cream-white leather, the wood of tables had a rich red hue, and minibar had both sodas and expensive alcohol. As soon as both Bruce and Loraine sat down, Thomas asked: “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yes, I would like some coffee,” Loraine said, but the boy just stayed quiet, looking wary at him. Thomas waited a bit for him to answer, and when realized that kid is not going to say anything proceeded to make two cups of coffee and poured a glass of cola just in case Bruce wanted some. He put the drinks on the table and sat down next to Bruce, who was near the window.

“The flight will take around 3 hours, so I would recommend making yourself comfortable.” He looked uncertainly at Bruce. 3 hours is a long time for a kid, he will probably get bored soon. “I have a book with me, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be interesting for you.” He told the boy.

The boy didn’t say anything.

Soon the aircraft started moving and they were airborne. He felt a tug in his gut and some pain in his ears at being off the land, but he was pretty used to these feelings by now. However, a glance to the side revealed that Bruce was not so comfortable. The boy was tense in his seat, hands gripping tightly the armrests, his jaw clenched hard. Mr Wayne didn’t know what to do to help him relax, so he just put his much bigger palm over the kid’s and squeezed it reassuringly. A few minutes later the boy slowly loosened up and was now staring out the window with amazement and awe shining in his eyes. Both Thomas and Loraine were smiling softly, the man keeping hold of boy’s hand through the whole flight. 

  
  
  


After landing successfully they were met by a man with a British accent who politely held the door of a car open for Loraine and Bruce and then proceeded to drive all three away from the airport. Bruce couldn’t help but notice that skies were much greyer here than at Kansas, a reddish stripe colouring it at the west. They were going on the side of a wide river and on the other bank he could see tall spires of a city. He tugged at Dr Bennett’s sleeve to gain her attention. When she turned to him, he asked: “What city is this?”

“This is Gotham.” She answered and he turned back to the window just in time to see a few rays of the sun peek out from behind the clouds to gleam on the glass and metal of skyscrapers and light up a giant “W” stretched out on the side of the tallest tower, making it flare in gold and red colours of a fiery sunset.

“It’s beautiful.”

Both Loraine and Alfred snorted at this scoffingly, but Thomas agreed: “It is. Especially at the nightfall.”

Bennett couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her friend. She could understand Bruce, who has never seen anything better, but Thomas? She just couldn’t fathom what he saw in this place. Their driver seemed to share the sentiment.

Around 20 minutes later their way turned away from the coast and uphill into a forest, and soon they saw skilfully ornate iron gates, that automatically opened before them, letting them into neatly mowed lands of Wayne Manor. Soon they stopped in front of a house, and when they all got out of the car, Bruce had to crane his neck up to take it all in, it was just so huge. It had two floors, not counting the basement and attic, and had two building wings spread out on the sides. The facade had lavish and intricate decorations, stems of ivy clinging to them for purchase. A woman in her thirties walked out very heavy looking front doors.

“Loraine!” She exclaimed happily, running down the stairs.

The two men shared an amused look and moved inside the house, leaving them be.

“Hello, Martha,” Bennett said before being smothered in a tight hug of her friend. Soon the woman let her breath, looking her over and talking joyfully, a big smile on her youthful face.

“Oh, it’s been such a long time! I was so excited when Thomas said you were coming! Dear, you didn’t change at all! I-” Her eyes suddenly landed on the boy nearby, who was still taking in the building and the blooming gardens, and her face morphed into one of a great surprise. She looked back at Loraine with an astonished expression and asked incredulously: “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

Loraine opened her mouth to say something, but Martha already stepped away from her and was crouching in front of Bruce, a curious look on her face.  
  
“And who might you be?”

Bruce, startled out of his observations, tensed up and looked, uncertain, at Loraine.

“I was just about to introduce you,” Bennett intervened. “This is Bruce.”

Martha smiled at the boy warmly. “Nice to meet you, Bruce. My name is Martha.” She reached out a hand for a handshake, but the boy just shuffled closer to Loraine. Woman’s smile slowly faded, a melancholic look in her eyes. Seeing this, the doctor said placatingly: “Please forgive him, he is just shy.” Placing her hand on boy’s shoulder.

Mrs Wayne stood up and gave a small smile that had no feeling behind it. “It’s fine. Come in now, the dinner should be almost ready,” She said and had gone upstairs.

Loraine stared at her friend’s retreating back and then turned to Bruce, who was still looking at the ground and scuffing his shoes. “Bruce.” The boy looked up at her. “When someone does this-” She reached out her hand as if to give him a handshake. “- it means they want to greet you. And you need to-” With her other hand, she took one of his arms and closed his palm around hers, giving it a shake. “- do this to greet them back. Or you will be considered impolite. Alright?” When Bruce nodded, she let go of his hand and went up the stairs to the manor, the boy trailing dutifully after.

  
  
  
  
  


They sat down in one of many lounges to wait and drink some tea while waiting for dinner. Women chatted, catching up on the years they hadn’t seen each other, and Bruce wandered off to the massive bookcases, taking one book after giving an antsy glance at Martha and Loraine to cheek that they don’t see him. Of course, they both seen him, but neither decided to comment on this.

Soon there was a lull in the conversation, Martha told all that she felt was important from what she recalled and Loraine hesitated on whether or not to confess about her last seven months. At one hand she wanted to be honest with Martha but at the same time, she knew that the more people were in on the secret, the less secret it is. She knew she could trust her friend, but they're always was a chance of a mistake. Besides, she didn’t want to stress her friend with all this, not to mention that she could easily become a target.

“You know, I’m surprised.” Martha suddenly breaks the silence. At Loraine’s questioning expression she elaborated. “I remember how you always said that you don’t want kids and how you only want to have a good career. I always laughed at you, how could someone _not_ want a baby? It was my biggest dream, to have a big family.” She gave a sad chuckle. “We both always thought that I will have a dozen of children the moment I marry, and I teased you that you will be one of those crazy grannies with forty cats. And yet…” She looked thoughtfully at Bruce, who was engrossed in - a dictionary? - a far too heavy book for a kid. “Here we are. Me, not able to have a child, and you, materializing from a thin air with a son. God works in mysterious ways.”

Loraine was stunned speechless. She struggled to come up with something to say, anything, a way to support her friend, to ease her pain, but instead of this her stupid mouth blurted out: “He is not my son.”

Both women were surprised at the words - Loraine was surprised at the sound of her voice speaking up without a conscious thought of hers, and Martha just surprised that this kid, that trotted after her friend like a little duckling was _not, in fact,_ her son. It seemed like such a logical conclusion to her.

However, these words also brought Loraine an idea.

“Yes, he is not my son. As a matter of fact, he is an orphan. And I was searching for someone, who could give this child a home, and a family. Maybe you are exactly who I was looking for.”

“Me?” Missis Wayne asked, more confused by a minute.

Loraine had thought of that already. She would be willing to look after the kid if there was no choice, but she also understood perfectly well, that her parenting skills weren’t nearly good enough to take proper care of the boy, not even mentioning the fact that she didn’t feel herself ready for this. Besides, her excessive presence in his life could be a constant reminder of what he was through and maybe he needed to have someone to take care of him, who doesn’t have any ties to his past but could help to heal his traumas, - hell, she probably had _her own_ traumas now, - and support his emotional growth. She herself always was a very closed off person and had a hard time talking about feelings and understanding the feelings of others. But now, that she thought about it again, she realized that Matha was perfect. As long as she knew her, this woman always was a deeply compassionate person, who felt all living beings' pain acutely in her soul and made an effort to ease it. Martha loved children, and she wasn’t afraid to talk about the matters of the heart, to open up in a way Loraine couldn’t. And Thomas, while maybe not being the same as his wife, was a very kind and caring person in his own way. They both studied at the same medical school, and from that time she realized that this man chose the profession of a doctor purely out of his absolute _need_ to help people. He may be not as open as Martha, and not as thoughtful at times, but he would do his best to help this boy. She didn’t want to leave Bruce to the will of fate and let some random family take him, - she would rather try to care of him herself, - but Waynes are not random family. Loraine would trust them both with her own life.

“Yes. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but while we are staying at your house, could you please consider this possibility?”

“I…I don’t even…” Another woman was taken aback by this sudden offer. “Well… I will consider this. But I can’t promise anything. And I will need to discuss it with Tom, before deciding anything.”

“Of course.” Loraine smiled at her friend. And if her friends would decide to take Bruce in, then she will tell Martha the meaning of the numbers on his wrist.

  
  
  


Next morning, after eating breakfast, Bruce sat with Loraine in the library, the woman reading a book and boy trying to do the same. But still, he couldn’t help but think back on the previous day. He felt strange when recalling the meeting with Martha. He kind of wanted to make himself do a different thing, somehow. The feeling was like a fading bruise, it doesn’t hurt too much, but it’s not a nice feeling when you brush it. And he could seem to keep his mind off touching this memory. Trying to think hard on what exactly made the moment wrong, he recalled it once again, replaying everything step by step. Martha came down the stairs, check. Then she talked with Dr Bennett for a bit, check. She turned to him and tried to give him a handshake, check. And then she stopped smiling. Bruce frowned at this part.

“Doctor Bennett?”

“Yes?” Loraine asked, not taking her eyes off the book.

“What do you do when you did the impolite thing?”

“You say you're sorry.”

“Hm.” Bruce thought about it for a little. He saw Martha earlier going outside, he could go after her to say that. But- “Doctor Bennett?”

“Hm?”

“Can I go outside?” He asked, not sure if he will be allowed to. He never went around too far alone.

“Sure,” Loraine said, still immersed in the text. 

Bruce smiled and run out of the room, leaving his book to lie opened on a chair.

  
  
  
  
  


Skies were surprisingly clear for Gorham, Sun bright and only a faraway line of grey on the east obscuring the blue, the soft breeze rustling leaves lightly. It was perfect for Martha. On days like this, she could fully enjoy her favourite part of the mansion - her beloved garden, with its paved paths and accurate flower beds. Oh, how much joy she took in seeing her hard work, her nurturing and caring turn into beautiful, full of life blossoms. To see how a little weak sprout would slowly, day by day turn into a strong and lush flower gave an exquisite feeling of fulfilment. By now she couldn’t call her plants anything else but her babies. Sometimes, at worse days, she would think about what it says about her, a deep emptiness in her chest. But for now, she just relished in the soft heat of the nice day.

She was tending to her roses when she heard sounds of approaching steps. Turning around revealed that it was Bruce, who was curiously examining the gardens as he slowly came closer. The sight of him reminded Mrs Wayne of the talk she had yesterday with her friend. She hadn’t managed to spend some time yet with this boy, and to be honest she was a bit… scared? Well, in a way, yes, she was scared. It wasn’t the first time she and Thomas considered the question of adoption. But every time they visited an orphanage, she never felt anything, any connection to children there. Yes, she wanted to help them. Yes, she wanted them to have a better life, to have a family. But she never felt that she could love them. And if she couldn’t love them, then why take them in? Out of pity? She would rather let them find the home that they would be loved in and improve their living conditions where they are than sentence them to live without parental love. So now, when faced with this possibility again, she was afraid. She was afraid, that yet again she will realize that she can’t love this child. That she won’t have salvation in adoption, and that all she will ever have is her flowers.

Finally, the boy stopped in front of her.

“Hi.” She greeted him.

Instead of answering with a greeting, Bruce stuck out his hand for a handshake. She hesitantly took it, not understanding why he did that.

“I’m sorry.” The boy said seriously.

“What for?” As far as she knew he didn’t do anything to be sorry for yet. 

“For not taking your hand yesterday. I didn’t know it was impolite. I’m sorry.”

Martha couldn’t help it as she laughed out loud. This solemn voice and the adult-like little frown were just so comical on such a young face. He only frowned more at that. Then he looked at the secateurs she held in her hand and asked: “What are you doing? You are cutting the flowers? Why?”

She looked down at the instrument as if surprised it was still there. “Oh, yes. It’s needed to keep roses healthy and so they would bloom longer. And to keep the bush in shape.”

She took one stem to show him a few wilted yellowish leaves and cut them off.

“See, I don’t hurt the stem. These leaves were dry and ill. If we kept them then the rest of the flower could become ill too.” She explained to him.

There were a few more dry leaves on the bushes and seeing this Bruce asked: “Can I help you cut other leaves?”

“Sure.” The boy came closer and reached out to gently pull another stem closer, Martha navigating him through the moves and watching closely that he didn’t accidentally cut himself. Bruce was quick to understand how to do things properly, and soon she felt that he didn’t need such close supervision anymore, so she took another pair of gardening scissors and started to work together with him, falling in comfortable silence.

Together they finished the work quickly. Martha smiled in satisfaction and turned to Bruce when she saw a scratch going up to his forearm. She gasped and reached out her hand to inspect the wound.

“Why didn’t you tell anything?!”

Bruce just avoided eye contact and chewed at his lip, looking thoroughly berated. Martha sighed at him and looked at the wound closely. It wasn’t deep, but it was pretty long, seeping a bead of red. She also noticed a smudge of black on the underside of his wrist. When he turned his hand she saw that it was a tattoo of digits “91939”. She felt a chill run down her spine, reminded of the book she read on Auschwitz. 

“What is this?” She asked with a tight voice.

“My number.” He said like it was obvious. In a way, it was.

She frowned at him but didn’t ask further, not yet. Instead, she got up and tugged at his arm.

“Come on, let’s fix you up.”

Martha led him back inside the house through the door near the kitchen and led him to the closest bathroom. Due to Thomas being a doctor and the fact that Waynes often held different functions at their manor, each bathroom in the house held a small medical kit with some most basic things like light painkillers or antiemetic drugs.

The woman cleaned the boy’s wound and applied some wound treatment agent, before closing it with a band-aid. She was done quickly, but for some reason, she didn’t want to let go of the fragile wrist. Stalling, she asked: “How did you get cut?”

“There are thorns on these flowers and when I reached for one of the deepest stems I dragged my arm on one.” He answered, sheepish. 

Martha couldn’t help but chastise herself for not paying enough attention to the boy. She is the adult here, she should be more attentive. Before she could delve deep into one of the darker corners of her mind, Bruce spoke up.

“It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t even hurt. It’s fine.” He told her, meeting her gaze. Somehow the calmness in these icy eyes soothed her, and she smiled at him.

“Yes, you are right. This is just a scratch and it will heal soon.” As an afterthought, she asked: “You want some cookies? Alfred thinks he hides them well, but he can’t hide them from me.”

“What’s cookies?”

Martha gave him an incredulous look. How could someone not know what cookies are? She must remedy this injustice right this instant, and so she dragged the boy to the kitchens to show what he has been missing out on.

  
  
  
  


They ended up spending the rest of the day together. They made to half the jar of baked goods before they were caught red-handed by Alfred, and while normally his scowl made Martha feel bad about her behaviour, this time she wasn’t regretting anything, as watching someone’s awed expression as they tried pastry for the first time turned out to be very entertaining.

After that Martha decided to give the boy a tour of the Manor while they wait for dinner. She showed him the multitude of parlours and cabinets, and halls with dozens of priceless paintings. And, of course, the beautiful grand ballroom with high windows, creme walls, polished parquet and glittering crystals of intricate chandeliers. But all of this wasn’t what caught Bruce’s attention.

“What’s this?”

“Hm? Oh, this. It’s piano.” She said, pushing a key to showcase. Bruce inhaled sharply n wonder.

“Can you, uh…” He tried to explain what he meant by gesticulating like he was holding a guitar.

“Play music?” She hit a few keys, eliciting a little melody.

“...yes.”

The boy came closer and tentatively sat at the edge of the wide bench seat, trying not to move too closely as to not interfere with Martha’s movements. She decided to play one of her favourite classical pieces - Etude “Butterfly” by Chopin. Energetic and sweet tune sprang to life under her dexterous hands, that were flying over the instrument like the very same butterfly this melody was named after. Bruce could hardly catch her movements as her fingers jumped from one key to another. When she ended this short piece, the boy couldn’t help but breath out a quiet ‘wow’. Martha preened at the silent compliment.

“Want to try?”

Bruce seemed surprised at her question. “I- I don’t know how to.”

She took his small palm in her. “Don’t worry, I will help you. Here.” She brought his hand down to the keys, slowly pushing them one by one with his hand. This time it was Nocturne Op.9, which was much slower and easier. With her free hand, she started playing low keys, and so together they started playing. Of course, their rhythm was nowhere near needed one, but it didn’t matter, what mattered is the harmony of melody, golden rays of light, and the good time they shared.

  
  
  
  


Thomas finally came home. Today he was especially busy and had to call to not wait for him for supper. When he stepped inside, he, first of all, asked Alfred. “Where is everyone?”

“Mistress Wayne together with Master Bruce is watching Grey Ghost in the blue parlour, I believe.”

“And Loraine?”

“Last time I’ve caught sight of Mistress Bennett, she was in the kitchens.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

British man nodded. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, thanks.”

Alfred strode away to take care of something else in the house, and Thomas went to seek out Loraine. Indeed she was in the kitchen, drinking tea and reading a scientific magazine that Mister Wayne was subscribed on.

The man came up behind her on silent feet. “Hi, Lo!”

The woman flinched at the unexpected sound of his voice. Seeing it was just him, she theatrically clutched at her heart and gave him an exasperated smirk. “Good evening, Mister Wayne.”

Thomas laughed at her. “Aw, second name treating? C’mon, I didn’t deserve it.”

She just arched an eyebrow.

“Alright, maybe I did. But! I also have something to redeem myself!” He placed his case on one of the chairs, took out a manila folder and gave it to Bennett. “Here,” he said, with a more serious expression. “Your new documents.”

“So fast?” She frowned a bit, taking it to sift through the contents.

“Everything could be done faster if you know the right people,” Thomas answered vaguely. “Listen, there’s a hospital in the East End. We just opened it, and they need more personnel. It’s not the best neighbourhood, but it will be easier to lay low there.”

She nodded thoughtfully, still looking through the folder. “I will think about it.”

“Great.” Thomas stood up and walked to the door. Before exiting he asked. “You want to join in on the Grey Ghost marathon?” When she shook her head in refusal, he just shrugged and walked away.

Loraine took out her new passport. It was American, of course. She opened it on a page with her personal information. There, in black words, was her new name.

  
  
  


_Surname: Thompkins_

_Given name: Leslie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time when I imagine posting a new chapter/work, I always think of what I will say in the notes, but when the time comes to actually post, I always forget what so important I wanted to say...
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! And tell me what you think, every comment makes me happier!


	6. Wayne

Three of them watched the show long into the night, Bruce sitting between the two adults, he and Thomas both caught up in the action-filled episodes of the show and Martha just enjoying their company, not that much interested in what was happening on the screen. For being a pretty strict person Thomas sure had some more childish interests, which the woman found pretty adorable. It was always nice seeing Thomas relaxed and having fun, with all the stress he gets in his work time, and now, watching both of the boys enjoying themselves, Martha felt at peace.

At some point, Bruce started to yawn a little, leaning more and more into Thomas’ side. None of the Waynes noticed that, and they realised what was happening only when the man tried to turn to Martha to say something and finally felt the additional weight of a sleeping child. They smiled at each other, Martha turning off the tv, and Thomas scooping up the boy to carry him to his room, which was near their own. He meticulously tucked the child in, with his wife watching fondly from the doorstep, and then the couple left for sleep too.

  
  
  
  
  


Thomas wakes somewhere after midnight. After laying for some time in bed trying without success to fall back into Morpheus’ embrace, he stands up, frustrated, and goes down to kitchens to drink some water. It’s not unusual to him to wake up in the middle of the night or have insomnia, his demanding work exhausting his body, but also not letting him rest. The irony, his work is to ensure other people’s health, but this same work is hurting his own health.

When he drowned a glass, Thomas decided to maybe try to pass the time in his cabinet, going over some files. As he was going there, he heard a sob. Stopping in his tracks, he realized that it was coming from the guest room they gave to Bruce.

Cracking open the door revealed the Bruce who pulled his knees to his chest, curled up, tortured by nightmares. ‘I should have seen this coming, considering… the circumstances,’ Thomas thought to himself. He slowly came in, trying hard not to make a sound and wake the child. A closer look revealed wet cheeks and hitched breath. Carefully, the man lowered himself on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight, and took one of the small fists, another arm patting Bruce’s head lightly. Thomas' lids started getting heavy, and soon, both of their breathings got calm.

  
  
  
  
  


A golden ray of sun peeked through the blinds and right into Martha’s eyes, making her squint, displeased. She turned over to hide away in her husband’s side but met only thin air. She sighed. She was used already to not finding Thomas near in the mornings. Slowly, she dragged herself out the warm and soft bed and began on her usual adventure of finding Tom. She didn’t find him in his favourite parlours, nor did she find him in the kitchens, where their cook Becca was already preparing their breakfast. Next, she decided to check his cabinet, but, strangely enough, even there she didn’t find him. Martha was at a loss. Where else could he be?

Going down the corridor, she noticed that the door to Bruce’s room was ajar, soft snoring coming through. Opening it a bit more, she couldn’t help but smile. Thomas was sprawled on the bed, arms keeping the boy cradled to his pyjama-clad chest, drooling on the pillow. Martha would be glad to just stand there and let her husband sleep, but a glance to the clock revealed that it was time for him to go to work. So, instead, she crept closer, and lightly shook Thomas’ shoulder.

“Hey.”

Thomas blinked his eyes open. “Hey.” He smiled when he saw her face.

“Come on, sleepy-head, it’s time to wake up.”

The man yawned and started to carefully extract himself from the kid’s vice grip.

“Couldn’t sleep again?”

“Woke up somewhere at 2 a.m. Thought to finish on the project of the orphanage, but didn’t get to it.” He turned to look at the boy, patting his shoulder lightly. “Heard him having a nightmare. Fell asleep.” He looked back up at his wife with bleary eyes. “I really need some coffee.” He tried to lean in to kiss Martha’s cheek, but she stopped him.

“Oh no you don’t, Mister. Go make yourself presentable first, and I will make your favourite coffee.” She said with a grin.

“With caramel syrup and creme?”

“Yes, you big baby.”

Mister Wayne just lowered his head on her shoulder and hugged her at the waist. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, I do. I love you too. Now, go take a shower.” She said with a big smile, pulling out of her embrace to get started on this promised coffee.

  
  
  
  
  


Later that day Martha took Bruce to a clothes store. They didn’t have any clothes for him in the house, and his current wear is going to need a wash soon. She tried to prompt him to choose some clothes for himself, but the boy didn’t seem overly interested in anything and was agreeing with any piece of clothing she suggested, so she stopped at some point and just chose him a few t-shirts in different colours, jeans, shorts, sweaters, underwear and shoes. It’s not like they can’t buy him something else later when he actually wants it.

After paying for all their purchases, she decided to spend some time in a park near the mall. She left all their purchases in the car with Alfred and the two of them walked to the park. It was a nice warm summer day in Gotham, and even though there were a few grey clouds up in the sky there still were a lot of children laughing, teens playing ball and riding skateboards, and a few people with dogs were walking down paved paths.   
  
Martha sat down on a bench near the playground so she could see Bruce easily. The boy, however, didn’t go to play with others as she expected, and just stood uncertainly nearby, examining everything around him.

“Why don’t you go play with others?” She asked him after it got clear that he won’t go.

Bruce glanced at the kids of all ages running around, playing games and riding on slides, his fingers picking at the hem of his big red t-shirt. He pouted his lips, shrugging in answer to her question. She put a gentle hand on his small shoulder.

“Don’t be shy, just try to talk with them.” Lightly, she pushed at his back, trying to prompt him to go and have some fun with other children. Bruce looked at her and... was it a glare? She felt an unwilling smile stretch her lips but didn’t say anything and after some hesitation, Bruce came closer to a lone girl sitting under a tree. She looked a bit older than the boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, with short black hair and brown skin, and she held a large backpack open on her knees and was… looking inside it? From where Martha was she couldn’t see exactly what the girl was doing. Bruce stopped near her and said something, but the woman couldn’t hear what above all the ruckus of kids around. The girl seemed to accept his company easily, and soon Bruce was sitting near her, and the girl was taking a little grey kitten out of the bag and holding him out for Bruce to pet. Both of them were playing with the animal, Bruce more hesitant in his moves, afraid to do something wrong, and girl confident and seemingly in harmony with the kitten. For the next half an hour two kids were together, the boy relaxing slowly in her company. He didn’t talk much, more just listened to what the girl was saying, but she seemed fine with it. Martha was glad to just watch these two have some fun together.

However, they needed to return home, and so she had to interrupt them.

“Bruce, it’s time to go,” she said, approaching them. The girl looked disappointed at this news. Bruce gave little furball back to his playmate and stood up, face blank, but Martha wasn’t hurrying to go. “What’s your name?” She asked another child with a smile.

“Selina.”

“Selina,” Martha repeated the name, tasting it. “Do you come here often?”

“Every weekend, and sometimes during the week too.”

“Well then, we will make sure to come here more often too, right, Bruce?”

The boy nodded eagerly with a little smile.

“Then I will take Smokey with me next time too,” Selina held up the kitten.

“Goodbye, Selina.” 

“Goodbye,” Bruce said, taking Martha’s hand.

“Bye.” Selina held one of the little paws up and waved it at Bruce for Smokey.

They left the park and returned to the car.

  
  
  
  
  


These last two days were a bit… strange, in Alfred’s humble opinion. Not unpleasantly so, of course. But from what he learned from previous experience that he gathered in the last three years of working in the manor, the guests of the Wayne couple had all been from the same social class, - the elite, to be exact, - with more or less similar views and often with almost identical models of behaviour. However, the two new guests were not, from the look of it, celebrities or aristocrats, or even all that rich. They also didn’t have the same reservations, the high society speech patterns, and they certainly lacked the ice in their eyes. They were different, and for once, Alfred was happy to welcome them in the grand house.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but notice that the young master Bruce was a very peculiar boy. The man himself didn’t interact with children often, but this child was unusual even to his not experienced point of view. For one, he was very quiet and not all that energetic, but he wasn’t passive either, rather he was… restricted. Which was surprising. Alfred was used by now, that every time Waynes had guests with children, the staff had to keep all fragile cutlery as far away as possible. There were also a few cases when kids looked positively bored and didn’t care much for running around the house, knocking down everything on their way. But he never saw before a boy or a girl, that would have restraints on their own behaviour. Kids of that age don’t usually have all that great of a grasp on discipline. Not unless they learned it hard way.

For a second, Bruce seemed very surprised by very mundane things. Of course, it happened before when visitors would stare in awe at the grand staircase or the multitude of cars, but some simple flowers? TV? Food? The boy almost constantly looked around like he was seeing things for the first time. And that was… disturbing, taking into account the previous point.

But both of these observations didn’t change the fact that the boy was very nice to be around. He didn’t break things, he didn’t run wildly, he wasn’t scoffing at maids and Alfred himself, and he wasn’t screaming at not getting something. Actually, now that he thought of it, the boy didn’t ask for anything, which, considering everything, solidified Alfred’s assumptions.

So now, when after driving mistress Martha with master Bruce home after their little shopping Alfred came to the kitchens to prepare dinner and found himself in the company of the boy, he didn’t find it undesirable. He usually highly disliked it when someone else intruded on his cooking process, but the boy didn’t try to give him unsolicited advice, nor did he try to participate. He wasn’t playing with his utensils and didn’t try to sneakily steal away some of the food. His little companion just sat patiently on a stool nearby and watched as Alfred proceed through the recipes.

“What are you doing?” The boy asked when Alfred started dexterously cutting vegetables in slim parts.

“I’m preparing the salad for dinner,” he said without losing his focus on the sharp blade.

“Can I help?”

Alfred paused. He didn’t mind letting Bruce help him, but he was worried that the boy might accidentally cut himself. After thinking about it a little, he decided to give Bruce another objective.

“If you wish so.” He gave the boy a grater and a few carrots. “Can you grate the carrots for me then, please.”

Bruce took the tool hesitantly, twirled it in his arms, and then looked up with an obvious question in his eyes. Once again, Alfred was bothered as to why exactly a boy his age wouldn’t know how to use a grater. However, he still had his butler dignity and he didn’t let his feelings on the matter show. Instead, he took the utensil and one of the carrots and showed Bruce how to use it.

“Could you, kindly, do this with other carrots?”

The boy nodded with a determined look in his eyes and set out to work. Together with Bruce, Alfred soon had all the ingredients ready. Upon finishing chopping vegetables, the boy asked: “Now what?”

“Now we mix them.” Alfred took out from a cabinet a deep bowl and put all the little bits in and poured in some oil. “Would you please help me, Master Bruce?” he asked, anticipating the question.

“Yeah.” The boy took the long wooden spoon and started eagerly mixing the salad.

“Please be careful and don’t drop anything out of the bowl, sir.” He warned, but it was unnecessary - the boy was meticulous enough without his admonitions. While the child worked with the spoon, Alfred started on the main dish, taking out a big chunk of meat.

“Is that enough?” Little boy’s voice interrupted him.

Alfred looked down in the bowl and decided he did a good job.

“Yes, Master Bruce, you did well.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Now I’m going to roast steaks.” Seeing Bruce open his mouth, Alfred prevented the question. “No, Master Bruce, I think it would be better if you would let me do this by myself.”

Bruce looked disappointed by these words but didn’t try to argue and just sat nearby to watch him work, waiting if Alfred would give him something else to do. And so they proceeded to cook dinner together, Alfred letting Bruce help him out once in a while when he felt it wasn’t too dangerous. To be honest, he rather liked this kid. He hoped that the boy would stay for a bit longer.

  
  
  
  
  


It was a surprisingly lazy day at the hospital for Thomas, so he was able to come home a little earlier. Since he had some free time, and he wasn’t up to working on the projects from the company, he, instead, decided to dedicate some time to his hobby and paint something. He loved painting from the very childhood when his mother would draw little silly pictures with him. Lately, he rarely had time for himself, and even when he had, he usually was too tired to do something productive. So now he was almost ecstatic with the prospect of having the whole evening to practice art.

In his cabinet, he meticulously set out and organized his oil paints and different brushes on a small table and put a canvas on the easel. He didn’t decide on what he wanted his painting to be, so, for now, he took a pencil and did a few rough sketches in his album to see what suited him better. He did a few outlines of streets, walked around to see if he could make a still life composition, chalked down a few figures and faces. He had been drawing a rural Paysage sketch when the door opened and Bruce stepped in. When the boy saw that Thomas was inside, he promptly murmured a “sorry” and turned around to leave.

“No, wait.” The boy stopped in his tracks and looked at him over his shoulder. Thomas noticed that he was in new clothes - a navy t-shirt and jeans. “What did you want?” he asked gently.

“I- I wanted to read a book,” the boy said, still standing in the doorway.

“Okay.” Thomas nodded. When Bruce just continued to stand there the man gestured with his head at the bookcase. “Go on, take the book.”

The boy stepped back in and Thomas returned to his sketches. After a few minutes of making quick sketches, he laid them all out in front of him to decide which one he would like to incarnate in oil. There was a lot of interesting ones and he couldn’t decide, so he instead started with removing those he didn’t like. He put away almost all of them and was taking another one in his hand when Bruce spoke up nearby, making the man jump out of his skin.

“I like this one.”

It was one of the landscapes. It showed the pound in the middle of Gotham’s Robinson park, skyscrapers peeking from behind trees’ crowns, but he hadn’t decided what time of day to show. Since the main focus was the lake Thomas didn’t put any people on the sketch, but this also made it look empty.

“Why?”

“It’s… spacious.” Bruce struggled for words to explain and spread his arms out to try to convey the feeling. “Wide. Airy.”

This made Thomas take another look. The lake was taking up the bottom third of the picture, with sky taking up the rest, divided from each other by a thin line of the trees and buildings in the distance, the Wayne Tower’s big “W” standing the highest. It did, in fact, look rather wide. It looked… immense. Limitless.

Free.

And with this realization, he suddenly saw the finished painting in his mind. The dark blue of night sky sprinkled with stars gradually turning lighter to the east, where the day breaking sun is raising, the rays making the glass of buildings flare-up. The stillness of water reflecting the blue, pink and gold, making it look even more endless. Thomas could almost feel the chilly air of the morning, hear the light trill of birds. He felt like he  _ is  _ there.

“What are you going to do with this?” Bruce brought him out of the trance. 

Originally Thomas would throw it away, but now…

“I’m going to paint it.”

He put the sketch on the table near the paints and took the pencil to copy the lines from it on the canvas.

“Can I watch?”

“Um? Oh, yes. Sure.” Thomas nodded to his leather office chair. “You can move it here to sit.”

Bruce did just that and got comfortable, while Thomas finished up with putting guidelines down. After that, he started putting down the base colours. He worked meticulously, his steady doctor’s hands having no tremble in their strokes. Bruce for his part was sitting silently, engrossed in the slow process of vague forms getting more and more detailed, acquiring volume, falling in shadows and basking in the light. It was mesmerizing, how the painting blossomed under the hands of the artist.

Together they sat there through all evening, Bruce watching and Thomas making his work more and more refined with each touch of the brush.

  
  
  
  
  


Later that night, when everyone was getting ready to sleep, Thomas thought about starting a talk with his wife that he thought very much about these last days. He knew the topic was very sensitive for her, he knew of her insecurities about it, but he also really wanted to bring this possibility to her consideration. What if?...

He couldn’t fall asleep, thinking on how to convince her, when she spoke up in the darkness.

“Dear? Are you asleep?”

“No, I’m not.”

She inhaled deeply as if getting ready for something.

“I was thinking… about Bruce.”

“Yes?” He asked, hoping that this was going where he thought it was.

“I… I was thinking if… maybe we could…”

“Take him in?”

“Yes.”

Thomas turned to his side to face Martha. The moonlight from the window illuminated his smile.

“I was thinking of that too.”

Martha too turned to him, her eyes shining with tender happiness. They both understood perfectly what the other felt, and they hugged each other tightly, sharing hopes of the new future for all three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, thank you so much for reading this work! All the comments you guys left lately under this work really helped me going! I really enjoy writing this work, but comments make it so much more enjoyable! It's always nice to know that your story isn't only a story _you_ want to tell, but also is a story someone _wants_ to hear. :)
> 
> At first, I wanted to start describing Bruce's life as a son of Martha and Thomas, a citizen of Gotham, but it also felt like the previous chapter wasn't enough. I wanted to show that both Thomas and Martha wanted Bruce to stay with them, to show them both starting a bond with him, and I also wanted them to explicitly _decide_ to adopt him. I'm not sure if it makes the pacing of the story too slow or not. I would love to hear your opinion :3c


	7. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhh sorry for the wait! 2020 was a very intense year, and the new one is just as full of events. I had to admit that I had a really hard time with this chapter, words just wouldn't go, and something else constantly demanded my attention. I hope I will get time to take a breathe and write, and I wish You to have things easier soon as well, I'm sure we all need some rest.

“I don’t think it’s a smart decision. Actually, no, let me rephrase that. It is an idiotic decision and I know it.”   
  
“Dear, Bruce gets absolutely nothing from it! Elementary can’t give anything to Bruce, he is just losing his time there!”   
  
“But he needs socialization, Tom, you know it. What about his friends?”   
  
“You know better than me that he doesn’t have friends there. Kids are just not interesting for him there!”   
  
“ _ He _ told you that?”   
  
“... No, but it’s pretty obvious anyway!”   
  
Martha huffed, angry, but decided to not say anything about this particular detail.   
  
“Alright, whatever, but what about bullying? Have you thought of that? Everyone will be older than him, and you know how teenagers are!”   
  
“Martha, please. It’s one of the best private schools in the world! With the most professional staff! They won’t allow for something like that to happen.”   
  
“And if they do?! What if they don’t notice, or something?”   
  
“Or something?”   
  
“Or something!”   
  
Thomas came closer to his raging wife and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes.   
  
“Then we will destroy them. Bullies, teachers, school. We won’t allow anyone to hurt Bruce.” He hugged Martha close to his chest to calm her worries   
  
“We still should ask him.”   
  
“Of course. Though I think I know what his answer will be,” he said, frustration clear in his tone.   
  
“But what if this time it will be different? You can’t be so sure.”   
  
“It’s been 2 months.”   
  
“Tom, you are too impatient. Give him time. He was there for years, you can’t expect him to change in two months.”   
  
“No, I don’t expect that.  _ You  _ do. You are the one who thinks his answer might change if we ask him.”   
  
“We need to ask him to help him learn that his choice matters, not because I think his answer will be different, though it  _ might  _ be different. You can never know.”   
  
Thomas put his chin atop Martha’s hair and breathed deeply.   
  
“You are right. Why are you always right? I wanna be right sometimes too.”   
  
“You will have your moment to shine, dear, I’m sure,” she smirked.   
  
“Stop laughing at me.”   
  
“I wasn’t laughing.”   
  
“I know you were, in your mind.”   
  
“Nope, I wasn’t.”   
  
“You are lying right in my face. Alright. Let’s go find him.”   
  
  
  
  
  
Bruce once again opened his backpack and checked that he hadn't forgotten anything and when he saw that nothing was amiss put it back on the car seat and turned to look out the window. After five minutes of watching cars and trees fly by, he pulled the zipper open again.   
  
“Nervous?” Mr Wayne asked from his left side.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Today was his  _ second  _ first day in a new school and he felt just as nervous as he did two months ago when he stepped in Gotham elementary for the first time. He will meet new classmates again, will have to learn new names, faces, memorize the new place. From the day of the escape from the facility, many new things had entered Bruce’s life, many new people appeared in it. Some of them vanished in the next moment without leaving anything after themselves, some of them stayed for longer, a few became new constants in Bruce’s days, and each had a life, a voice of their own, a name. Each of them was a person. And he was not. This fact never once left his mind.   
  
Thomas turned to Bruce fully and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you will be okay. But remember: if anything happens that you don’t like, anything at all, you need-”   
  
“- to tell you or Mrs Martha.”   
  
“And do you remember that you can call us just ‘Martha’ and ‘Tom’?”   
  
“...yes, Tom.”   
  
He has to do a better job in following orders.   
  
The man smiled down at him and squeezed his shoulder.   
  
“I asked Mrs Smith - your new teacher - to show you around and if you have any questions or are lost you can always ask her.”   
  
Bruce simply nodded in answer and kept looking out the window. Thomas was trying his best to calm him but it didn’t help. No matter how many words were being said or how many times it happened, some things just made your skin crawl from nerves and fearful anticipation, so, Bruce decided, the best tactic for such things is to just prepare as well as you can, meet them head-on and hope for the better.   
  
The car stopped in front of an old-looking building. Alfred stepped out from the driver’s place and helped both of them get out of the car. Just as Bruce’s feet touched the pavement, a black woman came closer.

“Good morning, Mr Wayne. And you must be Bruce,” she said with a polite smile.

“Hello, Samantha. Bruce, meet your teacher, Samantha Smith.”   
  
Bruce reached out his hand for a handshake, because Doctor Bennett told him to, and the woman shook it, amused.    
  
“Alright, Samantha, I entrust Bruce in your care. Bruce.”   
  
Bruce glanced up at the man.   
  
“Be careful, okay?” Mr Wayne bent down and hugged the boy closely to his chest.   
  
“Okay.” Came Bruce’s muffled in Thomas’ blazer. When a tool is asked, it answers.   
  
“Good.” The man straightened and patted Bruce’s head. “Have a nice day.”   
  
“You too.”   
  
Thomas glanced down at his watch and his face took on a horrified expression.

“Oh my god, it’s almost eight! I’m going to be late!” he exclaimed and rushed back in the car. He was hurrying so much that he hit his head while trying to get in, and Mrs Smith couldn’t help but smirk at him. She and the boy both watched the car take off and hide behind the next corner, and then the woman turned to the boy.   
  
“So, Bruce, nice to meet you! Come with me, I will give you a tour. Your classes start in half an hour so we have plenty of time.”   
  
“Yes, Mrs Smith,” he answered, following after her. He always did as he is told.

  
  
  
  
  


“Alright, class, let’s calm down for a moment, I have an announcement to make,” Samantha said walking into the classroom full of noisy kids. “We have two new students! Oliver Queen, he just came from Star City.” A blonde boy came into the room with indifference clear on his face. “And Bruce Wayne.” The boy walked in after Oliver and stood beside him, the top of his head barely reaching the other kid’s shoulder. Children looked at him curiously, obviously surprised by how young he is. “He skipped a few classes, and I expect all of you to be nice to him.”   
  
Bruce tried to keep on the blank face and not show his discomfort. All these eyes trained at him made his skin crawl.   
  


Like when scientists would watch him and write down their observations.   
  


“You can pick any of the free seats now, we will start our lesson in a minute,” the teacher told them.   
  
“Pfft.  _ ‘Any’ _ . Yeah, there’s so much of them, an embarrassment of riches,” Oliver drawled out, going to one of the two available seats that coincidentally were right beside each other.    
  
Bruce sat down too and started taking out his supplies.   
  
“So.”   
  
Bruce looked up from his backpack at the blond boy.   
  
“You are a smarty.”   
  
Bruce didn’t know what to say so he just shrugged his shoulders.   
  
“Good. I will be copying your homework.” Oliver said as a matter of fact.   
  
It made sense. Tools were to be of use to a person. He nodded.

“That’s settled then. To be honest I thought you would at least  _ try  _ to refuse.”

Refuse. What a ridiculous concept. Tools don’t have a choice.

Tools were allowed some questions though. Sometimes. And right now 919-  _ Bruce  _ was curious.   
  
“Why are you studying here if you are from Star City?”   
  
“I was  _ supposed  _ to study in Star City, but dad decided to punish me.”   
  
“Punish?”   
  
“Yeah, I called one of his partners an asshole-”   
  
“That’s a bad word.” He said without thinking, parroting Alfred that ranted in length about how young men should not use words like that after Bruce saw it in a book and tried to pronounce it, and flinched, awaiting a reaction.   
  
“- and ruined his deal, so he decided to send me here to suffer and so I won’t be able to do this again.” Oliver didn’t seem to notice.

Bruce waited a little bit more, to see if the blonde boy would do or say anything else, but when he didn’t, he decided to risk another question.   
  
“But why is  _ this  _ a punishment?”   
  
“Are you kidding me? Duh, ‘cuz it’s Gotham! No one likes Gotham.”   
  
“Mister Wayne likes Gotham.”   
  
“You call your dad Mister Wayne?” Oliver frowned  quizzically .   
  
Before Bruce could say anything else, the school bell ringed, signalling the start of class.   
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


The first half of the day flew by quickly and with no trouble. Bruce wasn’t asked any questions on his first day and other students seemed to prefer to watch him from the sidelines rather than interacting with him directly.   
  
Bruce was totally fine with that. He wasn’t exceptionally brimming with the desire to start exuberant communication with them himself.

  
  
It was easier with Waynes. Doctor Bennett was with him then, and she trusted them. And Bruce trusted her. Just a few months ago she was the only person he could fully believe without a doubt. So when she said that Waynes are their friends, it was the truth for 9- Bruce. He got used to them quickly with Loraine at his side.   
  
But she wasn’t here now, as she wasn’t with him in elementary school, and it made him feel… unsafe. He was alone here.

  
  


Now, however, his unease to make contact posed a little problem on the lunch break. After taking his meal, Bruce found that there is no empty table at all and he will have to join someone else no matter what he thought about it. Since there was no other choice, he decided to just sit at the closest available place. He spotted a table full of boys nearby that had a free seat and already started moving towards them as a hand grabbed his elbow, making him halt in his steps to not drop the tray.   
  
“Nuh-uh, kid, you are not going to sit with these guys,” said a familiar voice.   
  
“Why?” Bruce asked in surprise as he turned to Oliver who started tugging him in another direction. He didn’t protest at how the other boy dragged him away. He was used to being led around.

“‘Cuz it’s Falcone’s brat and his  escort , duh. Alberto or whatever his name.”

“...and?” He still was too confused to think about the consequences of asking too many questions.   
  
Oliver groaned out loud. “Really? My god, kid, did you come out of a bunker or something? Everyone knows that the Falcone family is like the embodiment of “The Godfather”, and Carmine is like, uh, what was he called? Viko?... Whatever, he is, like, the main guy. The boss.”

All this information gave absolutely nothing to Bruce, except that the blonde boy had trouble with names apparently, but Oliver didn’t seem to care much about him at the moment anyway. Instead, he stopped near another table with a lone figure.

“Hi, Lexy. Fancy seeing you here. Weren’t you supposed to study at one of Metropolis’ private schools? Did something upset your plans?” Oliver asked a redhead teen with the most unpleasant smile Bruce has seen yet plastered on blonde’s boy face.   
  
“Hello, Oliver. How curious, I thought you would be at Star City Academy at this very moment, diligently studying, and yet, here you are.” The other answered with an equally wide and obnoxious grin.   
  
The blonde boy glared at his opponent and the other met his gaze with a scowl of his own. However, the silent clash of wills soon ended when the redhead finally noticed Bruce standing awkwardly nearby.   
  
“And what is this infant doing here?”

“That’s Bruce Wayne,” Oliver said before the boy could even open his mouth.

“Wayne? I thought they didn’t have kids.”

“Thought so too, but it seems we were wrong.”

“You know them?” Bruce blurted out before the teens could proceed to ignore him.   
  


“Kid, everyone knows everybody in this place, we have all met. Like, come on, hadn’t you been to a party before or something?” Oliver explained in a tone like it should have been obvious.

“Well, we didn’t know there is a Wayne brat so I guess we don’t know  _ everybody.  _ Besides, he is probably too young to attend functions yet. “ The boy didn’t seem to notice how he and Queen both were not old enough either.   
  
“...can’t argue with that, though I really want to.”   
  
“Of course you do, Oliver, god forbid we ever agree on something.”   
  
Bruce felt relief that he didn’t have to explain anything to them - they seemed perfectly fine with building their guesses and bickering back and forth.   
  
By now his arms started hurting a bit from holding his tray with food, so, recalling Alfred’s manners lessons, Bruce asked, “Do you mind if I sit here?” and in afterthought remembered how the man insisted on - “Please.”

The redhead just made a vague gesture at the table. Oliver sat down and seeing this Bruce hoped it was a yes and plopped down near the blonde.   
  
He stared at the teen sitting across him. The boy with red hair looked a bit older than Oliver and way more serious. He seemed to notice his staring.

“Lex Luthor.” The teen answered an unasked but obvious question.

“Nice to meet you, Lex.” He said as Alfred told him to do, and reached out his hand. Luthor looked at it critically for a moment, but then took it and gave a firm shake.

“Oh kid, there’s nothing nice about meeting Lexy, believe me.” Said Oliver and immediately got a crumpled napkin thrown right at his face.

  
  
  
  
  


The rest of the school day passed quite fast after that and soon it was time for Alfred and Martha to pick him up. Bruce walked out of the building and into the little square in front of it, waiting for them to arrive. Martha agreed with Selina to meet them in the park again. The girl promised to bring the kittens one of her cats birthed a month ago.   
  
As he waited for the car to arrive he didn’t notice a group of kids surrounding him until he heard a cough from behind his back. When he turned around Bruce saw that all around him were the boys Oliver warned him about on the lunch, with Falcone at the front as their leader. Their closeness made him take a step back. He didn’t like the way they looked at him at all.

“I never realized this school has also included kindergarten. What are you even doing here?” The maybe-Alberto asks.

“Study,” Bruce answers, genuinely not understanding the question. Is there something else one could be doing in school?

Alberto rolls his eyes at the answer. “Obviously. You must be smart if you got here despite still wearing diapers.”   
  
Bruce chose to keep silent. It wasn’t a question, after all, so he didn’t have to correct him.

Alberto didn’t seem to like it. He stepped closer and grabbed Bruce’s by the collar.   
  
“You better-”   
  


“Hey!” Oliver suddenly shoved the boy back and glared at him. “Fuck off from him!”

“Or what?” Alberto stepped closer to Oliver and smirked at him, other boys standing nearby, ready to pounce in the action at one word from Falcone.

Queen realized perfectly that the two of them were at a disadvantage, but before he would do something rash, Luthor’s voice came from behind the crowd.   
  
“He won’t do anything, but his father will. And then it will be on you to explain to Mister Falcone why his company’s shares are taking a deep dive.”   
  
“Queens can't do shit to us,” Alberto answered, but there was less confidence in his voice.   
  
“You want to bet on that?” Lex arched his brow as he calmly walked to the boy.   
  
Alberto thought about Luthor's words with a frown on his face that showed intense brain activity - a look that clearly was a rare sight on the young man - and seemed to decide that the teen was right. He glared at both him and Oliver and retreated, his friends following him like loyal hounds.

“What the-” Oliver stared at Lex.   
  
“Alberto never listens to what all the old men talk about on Galas. He has zero understanding of what their company does, much less on its position in the market. Once he takes the CEO seat he will destroy the company with his own hands.” Redhead said as a matter of fact. He acted so much different than all the kids Bruce met at elementary school.

“Oh-kay, I guess.” Oliver hesitantly agreed, having a feeling that Lex thinks the very same things about him, and mumbled quietly, "Damn, he gotta relax sometimes." Then he turned to the youngest. “You alright?”

Bruce nodded, not really understanding what had transpired.   
  
“Great! Be careful with this guy. If he tries to do something again, just call us-”   
  
“No, no, no, don’t bring me into this." Luthor tried to step away but the blonde boy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer.

"Aw, Lexy, if you really didn't want to be brought into it then why involve yourself at all?" Oliver asked him with a sly grin. "You  _ decided _ to help us, which mean that-"

"No-"

"-you-"

"-I don't-"

"-like us! Don't be scared we will keep it a secret, right Bruce?" Oliver slapped the youngest boy's back.

"Ri-" Bruce started to say, but the blonde boy didn't listen.

"See, he said yes, your secret will die with us, you have nothing to worry about! You can rest assured that no one ever will learn that you might be a good guy, sometimes."

  
Lex looked up and groaned to the sound of Oliver's loud laugh.   
  
“What did I do to deserve this?” He asked the clear blue of the autumn sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Any critique is welcome!


End file.
